The Girl in the River
by Serena Bancroft
Summary: The Squint Squad must travel to New York City, where Mac's team is dealing with the murdered remains of a pregnant softball player, and the fallout after losing one of their own. Takes place early Bones S5, CSI:NY S6.
1. Found

**A/N: Hey everyone SB here. I haven't been able to write much on my other stories and keep getting stuck, but I got a really good idea for a Bones/CSI New York crossover, since I was just watching it :) I hope you enjoy! Please review and leave constructive critisism :) THANKS! -Serena**

**Danny/Lindsay, Booth/Bones :)**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing other than my own plot in this story. I do not own CSI: New York (cuz if I did, Angell would still be alive) or Bones (cuz if i did, Booth and Brennan would be together). I think you get the picture. THANKS.**

**~~Found~~  
****--CSI: New York--**

"Messer." Danny answered groggily after his cell buzzed. Lindsay stirred beside him, but she didn't wake. Lucy was probably wearing her out.

"Danny?" Mac's voice was on the other end, "We need you. Now. We found a body in the river, but it's not pretty."

"We need Linds? She's really tired," Danny asked, concern over his wife's well-being coloring his voice.

"I don't think so. Not yet at least. Just get down here and we'll discuss it." Mac said. Danny was a bit worried at the sound of Mac's voice. It was almost unsure. Mac was NEVER unsure.

"Yeah. I'll meet you in twenty. Where are we talking exactly?" Danny asked. Mac gave him some quick directions.

Danny snapped his phone shut and, as quietly as he could, went to take a shower. After the quick five minutes, Danny yanked on some clothes, and Lindsay stirred, and she sat up halfway, resting on her elbows. "Morning, honey." She murmured quietly.

Danny looked at her. She REALLY looked beat. Dark rings stood out like mud on white canvas, and her beautiful eyes were bloodshot with tiredness. Danny walked around to her side of the bed and kissed her forehead. "I've got a case. Mac said you can stay here and rest." Danny took her chin gently and tilted her face up to look at him. "Really, Montana. Get some sleep. I'm not going to lie to you, cause I love you so much, but you look like hell."

No offense was taken on Lindsay's part. She knew her husband was just concerned for her safety. "I know, Danny. I'll sleep while you go catch murderers." She winked at him.

He smiled warmly at her, and she settled back into her bed, and Danny heard her light snore pick up in a matter of seconds. He lightly kissed her hair, and after a quick check on sleeping Lucy, he slipped out the door.

* * *

Danny lept lightly out of his car and flashed his badge to the cops outside the caution tape. Ducking uner it, he saw Hawkes, Stella, and Mac standing near the river. He assumed they were with the body. Danny walked up and said, "Hey Mac. What've we got?"

Mac turned and Danny was able to peer past him. Nope. This was definately NOT a body. These were REMAINS. Human remains. No one at the lab was qualified to ID human remains. Hawkes maybe somewhat capable, but a jury may question his abilities.

"Whoa. I see what you mean by, 'we'll discuss it'." Danny exclaimed.

Mac and Stella both looked sort of stumped what to do. "Yeah, we have no one at our lab with the forensic anthropology experience we need to ID this body." Mac stated.

Stella crouched next to the body. "I mean, some of these marks on the arms could be defensive wounds or maybe just battered by rocks in the river... I don't know."

Hawkes jumped in "Well, obviously, none of us are qualified to ID these remains, but maybe we can find a forensic anthropologist nearby?"

Stella shrugged "The only one of that profession that I've heard of, and is closest to us is in Quebec."

Both Danny and Mac were pretty much stumped on the subject, so everyone turned to Hawkes, who had a huge smile on his face. "Are you guys serious? You've never heard of her?"

"Heard of who?" Mac asked.

Hawkes scuttled over to his bag a produced a big hardcover novel. "And what's your book gonna prove?" Danny asked.

Hawkes tossed the book to Mac and said, "Flip it over,"

Mac did as he was told, and a large black and white photo of a beautiful brown-haired woman was on he back. Her facial features were sharp, but not too sharp, and there was just enough softness to be cute. She held a skull in one hand against her own head. "That, my friends, is one of the best forensic anthropologists in the country, Dr. Temperance Brennan. And she lives in Washington, D.C. and works at the Medico-Legal lab at the Jeffersonian Institute. She's identified thousands of remains, and she also writes novels," Hawkes explained. "I'll bet the NYPD has her number somewhere stowed away for just such an occasion," he said. "But she works with a federal agent, so he gets to come along as well."

Danny wrinkled his nose "He? So, you think they're, like, banging each other? Wouldn't that just kind of mess with our heads with that drama?"

"You and Lindsay." that was all Stella said, but it was enough of a comeback. Danny sighed in defeat.

Mas took it as a green light. "Let's give her and her partner a call."

**A/N: Hey, whaddya think? I like it, since im so enthusiastic about these shows! I think I'll write another chapter tonight so yippee skippee, you get two chapters! ENJOY! -SB**


	2. Coming

**A/N: Hey this is chapter two of my Bones/CSI:NY crossover. Please read and review! THANKS!**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Bones or CSI:NY or am affiliated in any way with CBS or FOX. Thank you.**

**~~Coming~~  
--Bones--**

"Sweetie, puh-leese come get a drink with everyone tonight. You've been working nonstop since Monday. Have you even showered?" Angela bombarded Temperance. It was true, it was Thursday and she'd only been home once, and that was to grab a few changes of clothes. But she had showered several time in the lab decontamination shower.

"Do I smell like I haven't taken a shower?" Brennan asked, looking self-conciously down at her slim form.

Angela rolled her eyes dramatically. "Of course not, but is it really healthy to work so much? It could give you a brain hemhorrage."

"That's not how brain hemhorrages are caused."

"That's not the point. The point is, you don't need to work so much. I think it'd be good for you to socialize. Why don't you call up B-" but her voice was cut off by Brennan's office phone ringing.

"Hang on, Ange." Brennan said. She reached over her desk and lifted her phone to her ear. "Brennan," she answered, as she always does.

"Dr. Brennan, hey, um, listen, I have a call for you," Dr. Camille Saroyan said, "It's from Detective Mac Taylor in New York. I knew him from way back when. They've got some remains that need IDing and such. Can I tell him you'll help?"

"Yeah, sure. I just put the finishing touches on the Damico case, so I'm free for the rest of the week. Plus the weekend. Do you need me to call Booth?"

"Nope. I'm calling him right after you. I've got Mac on the other line, and he'd like to speak with you." Cam said.

"Put him through." Brennan said, shuffling a few files across her desk.

The line went dead for a few seconds, then she heard another voice on the line, "Dr. Temperance Brennan?"

"Detective Mac Taylor." Brennan said, copying his tone.

"I really appreciate you agreeing to work with us."

"It's my pleasure. When do you need me to be there?" she asked.

"As soon as possible. We haven't moved the body much, but I think we need to get moving. I think we may be having some weather coming in and I don't want these remains left out getting soaked." Mac said. _Hm_, Brennan thought, _He must be a good dectective. Who APPRECIATES the skeletal system._

"I'll be leaving in a matter of minutes. I'm coming."

* * *

Bones sat in the passenger seat of Booth's car, staring into the noon light as the Pennsylvania countryside flashed by. Booth was chatting casually about the case, and she had to be careful not to stare to longingly at him. Atleast not while he was looking. She continually had to draw herself back whenever she thought about him. He was sweet, tender, funny, and not to mention extremely good looking. She wanted so bad for him to feel the same way about her, but she was sure he didn't.

Yet Booth had to keep telling himself the same thing, _Do not stare at her. Do not stare at her. DO. NOT. STARE. AT. HER! _He never imagined himself falling for someone like his PARTNER. But he couldn't help it. She was sweet and smart and nice and beautiful. His grandpa had once told him to find a pretty girl who you could trust with secrets. He could not only trust her with secrets, but his life. Sometimes, when her back was turned to him, he'd eye her up and down, imagining them together, connected, every part of their bodies touching, their skin aflame against each others'... and usually his breathing would become irregular and he'd have to tear his gaze away from her perfect form.

"Have you ever been to New York City before?" Booth asked, genuinely curious.

Bones shook her head. "No. My family was planning on a trip so we could see the Statue of Liberty. We were planning on going after Christmas..." her voice gradually grew quieter. Booth always noted the tenuous hold on her control when she talked about her family. Of course, she was now free to see her brother and father any time she wished, but her mom was dead. And death wasn't something that could be reversed. He could see the longing for her mother in her deep eyes.

"Hey, sorry. I didn't really mean to bring up the subject." Booth said, turning a caring gaze towards her. When she turned to face him, her eyes spoke legions, and he literally had to tear his eyes off of her face so he didn't run them off the road.

"It's fine. I don't mind really." She was lying. He could tell she DID mind talking about her family, she just didn't show it. But somehow, he could tell.

After that, their conversation dropped off into a peaceful, quiet scilence.


	3. Introductions

**A/N: Hey readers! I haven't been this pumped to write a story before. So I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing! HAPPY THANKSGIVING! -SB... P.S. I put Zack Addy in here because I was so sad that he left. So just let's say he got out of the insane asylum, okay? Thanks.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own or am affiliated with Bones, CSI:NY, CBS, FOX, or any of their subsidiary companies or partners.**

**~~Introductions~~**

**--CSI: New York--**

There was a tried and true system of the way Dr. Brennan went to examine the remains and Agent Booth automatically bombard everyone at the scene with questions. They were so efficient, it wasn't even funny. Mac noticed that Danny was eyeing them both, doubt all over his face. Mac chuckled inwardly. He strode over to Dr. Brennan, where she was crouched next to the remains. Her eyes were narrowed with focus as she inspected every inch of them.

"What do we got?"

"The victim is female. Late teens early twenties. About five foot ten or eleven judging by her femurs, but my team can be more precise. Judging by the wear in her shoulder, I'd say she was a softball pitcher. The wounds on her arms are definately defensive. There are also some other wounds here," she pointed, "and here on the ribs. Those injuries were probably fatal, but I'll be able to be more precise when we get back to the lab. Once our entimologist gets here, he'll be able to use the silt and soil in the remains to find where she was dumped in the river, and when she died. My assistant can strip the bones of any flesh, and our artist can give her a face." Brennan said.

Mac nodded, listening to her every word, "Okay. Are we ready to transport the remains to the lab?"

Dr. Brennn stood. "Well, I've taken all the samples we'll need, so yes. We're ready."

* * *

Bones, Booth, Hodgins, Angela, and Zack walked into the NYPD crime lab later that day, and Mac was showing them towards where the remains were. It was probably less than a minute before they all were working over the murdered girl. By this time, Mac's whole team was there, observing.

Everyone stood off to the side while the Jeffersonian team worked. "Zack, I'll need depth appagy readings on these wounds to see if they were fatal. And analyze the defensive injuries on her arms. And the previous ones as well." Dr. Brennan was rattling off

"Previous? Like before the murder?" Stella asked.

Dr. Brennan nodded, but Dr. Addy was the one who answered, "Yes. There appears to be an abusive history with these remains. Perhaps a boyfriend or husband."

At that time, Flack walked in. You could tell something was plauging him, his shoulders slumped and his eyes were dark. "Hey, Don. Did you get any hits?" Mac asked.

"I got at least 1000 hits for the age area matching your description, but only 300 are softball pitchers." Don said his voice void of emotion.

Angela, who was mindlessly sketching in the corner, noticed his depression in his eyes. She began to subconsciously sketch his face, trying to get the emotions right. She also noticed what a good looking guy this Don was. She wondered if he was single.

"Perfect." Brennan muttered, as she used the forceps to remove a plastic-looking thing from from near the vic's ear.

"What the hell is that?" Danny asked.

"Hearing aid. They're common in abuse victims. Repeated blows to the head can damage the bones of the inner ear." she said, matter-of-factually. Danny wondered how she could do that, say things so coldly and emotionlessly.

"But they come with serial numbers and can be traced to an owner," it was Booth who spoke now.

"Exactly." Brennan said, smiling. Sealing the hearing aid in an evidence bag, Booth went to match the numbers. "We should have the identity of this girl wthin the hour." Brennan said to Mac. Then she turned to Zack. "Strip the bones of any flesh, and give the skull to Ange to see if the hearing aid belongs to the right girl."

Everyone eventually left the room, Brennan off looking for Booth, Danny to call Lindsay to see if she was coming in today, Zack to clean the bones, Hodgins to pick up results on some soil, Stella and Mac to get coffee... It only left Angela and Flack. Flack seemed totally oblivious of the situation, and just stared off into the distance. He looked like he was burning, but he didn't really know what to do about it.

Angela stood up to go accompany Zack, but she turned to Don. "Hi. I'm Angela. Montenegro. And you are?" She already sort of knew what his name was, but she was hoping to strike up a conversation to see was was bothering him so much.

He looked up, but his expression did not change at all. "Don Flack."

Angela kind of waited for him to say something else, but it was pretty clear he wouldn't speak unless he was spoken to. "Well. It was nice meetnig you, Don Flack." she turned and kind of began to walk away. She was so extremely confused about this guy's behavior. She'd ask someone later, she decided as she followed in the direction Zack had gone.


	4. Named

**A/N: Hi all. Just finished chapter three, so now I'm starting chapter four. Last chapter was kind of all this preamble stuff and was not very interesting (at least not in my eyes) so sorry! I hopeyou enjoy this chapter though. -SB**

**~~Named~~**

**--Bones--**

Angela wandered into a room that was obviously not meant for cleaning bones, but Zack had made it functional. "Hey Zack." she said, making her presence known. Zack turned and smiled briefly. "Got anything for me yet?"

"Nope, but they'll probably be ready in about five minutes."

"Okay." She started to turn to leave, but then on a secondthough, she walked back to Zack. "Hey, have you noticed anything wierd about that Flack guy? I mean, he looks like he's on fire, but he's not sure what to do about it. Like he's just sitting in his own personal hell. It's sad to see."

"Natural human reaction to combustion is panic, Angela." Zack said.

"Somehow, I knew you would say that, but that's not what I'm trying to get at here."

"Well, I suppose he does look really sad. His brain cells must be-"

"Okay, Zack, I don't need the formula for sadness."

Zack sighed quietly, "To be honest, Angela, he looks a lot like you did when you came from from the desert that last time. When Kirk was murdered."

Angela tried not to think about Kirk Perzinger as much as possible. Although she was very much over him and had come to grips with his death, it didn't change the fact that she had been madly in love with him, ready to marry him, and he was taken away from her forever. The fact that she'd never see his face again, or laugh at one of his cheesy jokes, or share a beer in their cabin in the desert, or tease him about his flakey photos... Even after four years, she missed him. "Really?" she asked, her voice sounding strangled.

"Yeah. Really."

"Wow. That changes things. Maybe his wife died of cancer or his girlfriend broke up with him... I should go apologize or talk or something." Angela said.

"Well don't just run in there and make things worse. I don't think these New York people like us that much. Maybe you need to get all the facts first..." Zack suggested, trailing off.

Angela thought about it. "Maybe I will. I'll go talk to that delicious Messer guy. But he did have a wedding band on. Too bad."

"Just be back in approximately two minutes. You'll need to take this skull."

"Oh. Then I may as well stay. I'll finish up the reconstruction, then go get the scoop on Detective Flack." Angela concluded, just as the bones finished boiling.

* * *

"The hearing aid belongs to Lynn Macken. She is one of the top college softball pitchers in the country. I'm going to talk to her parents." Booth stated to Brennan, Mac, and Stella.

"Sorry, Booth. I need to stay and help Zack with the remains." Brennan said, regret displayed all over her features. Any time not spent with Booth was time wasted in Brennan's eyes.

"I could go," Stella offered. She didn't want to admit it, but she liked this Agent Booth.

"Since Lindsay's not coming in today, I've gotta cover some of her lab work, so that'll work out great." Mac said.

"Okay then. Let's go." Booth said and he and Stella headed for the exit.

"Who's Lindsay?" Brennan asked.

"She's one of our team and she's out sick or something today. She and Danny just had a baby, so she's probably worn out." Mac explained.

Brennan smiled dreamily. "Kids do have that effect on some people." She realized she had come out of her shell. It wouldn't take a roket scientist to guess she wanted a kid. Her wall of emotionless professionalism slammed back into place. "Tell them congratulations for me." she added politely. She wasn't about to curse people who had everything she wanted, and she didn't.

Mac smiled kindly, "Of course."

* * *

Angela gently placed tissue markers on the now clean, stark-white skull with latex-clad hands. Her sketchpad sat nearby, waiting for Angela to draw this girl. She somewhat sadly began her task. She wished ferociously there were no murders in the world, and that this girl would be still alive. She was a softball pitcher, so she probably had a team of friends who cared about her, a family, a life ahead of her... It was so unfair to have that taken away from her, without her consent. It wasn't right.

The tissue markers were all placed, and Angela began to tenderly sketch every detail of the face, placing skin and tissue over bones. Bringing the skull back to life on paper. Her sensitivity did not go unnoticed. Flack, who'd been standing close to the room where Zack had cleaned the bones and been perfectly able to hear Zack and Angela's conversation, watched her carefully out of the corner of his eye. Even if he wasn't attracted to her, I'd be nice to have someone to talk to who would understand. And someone who wasn't his boss.

He'd make a point of talking to her later. Just not now. He stalked off in the opposite direction, where his desk was waiting with stacks of paperwork to be done.

* * *

Stella and Booth approached the house that belonged to the Mackens. Booth hated this part of his job fiercely, having to tell the family that their loved one was dead. Or even worse, tell a parent that their child had passed before them.

The silence between Booth and Stella was kind of awkward, and she tried to strike up a conversation. "So... How long have you and Dr. Brennan been partners?" she asked, trying to be as non-chalant as possible. She WAS curious to see if there was anything going on between them.

Booth knocked on the door loudly. "Five years next week." he stated.

Stella was about to say something else, but the door was opened by a big burly guy. He was tan with jet black hair and a creepy looking face. Stella looked out of the corner of her eye and Booth kind of looked like he was sizing this guy up. "Can I help you?" Burly Guy asked gruffly.

"Yeah. FBI, I'm Special Agent Booth, and this here is Detective Bonasera with the NYPD. We need to ask you a few questions about Lynn Macken."

"Oh no. Cops? What to Lynn do?" Creeper asked. But his concern was SO obviously false. His voice was tight and controlled, like he had the undeniable urge to scream, but had to hold it in.

"Can we come in?" Stella asked. It was more of an order than a question. Creeper stepped aside to let them in. "May I ask what you name is?" Booth asked as soon as he got in the door.

"Dane Macken. I'm Lynn's brother." he said, his voice still tight and controlled.

"Well then, may we speak with your parents?" Stella asked.

"Yeah, if you don't expect an answer. Dad's dead and Mom's gone senile and she's under constant surveillence in a nursing home. So go right on ahead and have a nice chat with them."

Booth wasn't fazed at all by his answer. He launched into a questioning Stella could hardly keep up with.

"Has your sister had any problems in school or with the law before?"

"No. Lynn's a good kid." Dane said. "What's going on? What happened to Lynn?"

"We have evidence that you sister was murdered. Her hearing aid was found with a body. We're currently trying to match the two." Booth stated.

"Oh." was the only thing Dane said.

"Oh?" Booth said, voice low and extremely scary, "I just told you your sister was probably murdered and all you have to say is 'Oh'?"

Dane stood up, in an aggressive position. Stella's hand immediately found her gun in it's holster, but she didn't draw it. Yet. "Well, jeez, you guys just barge in here and tell me that my sister is dead! How do you want me to respond? Huh?"

Booth stood up too, easily standing eye to eye with Dane. "Oh, I don't know, maybe show some sort of emotion, or concern for you sister would be nice." Booth's voice was still eerily calm and quiet.

Dane sat back down, a look of bewilderment on his face. "So, how come you never reported your sister missing?" Stella asked.

"I didn't know she was missing. She lives on campus. We hardly ever talk any more. Maybe the occasional Christmas card, but other than that..."

"Do you know about any friends? Boyfriends? Any other associates we could talk to?" Booth asked.

"I don't... really know. Last time I talked to her she was going out with some guy. His name was Adrian or Aiden or something like that. And Lynn was... attractive and she was really popular, so yeah, I guess she had a lot of friends."

"Does this Adrian/Aiden person have a last name?" Stella asked.

"Something German sounding. Westly? Westen? Westhouse? Westenhausen, that was it." Dane said. He wasn't really showing much emotion on the case of his sister's death, but he wasn't NOT helping.

"Thank you for your cooperation. If you think of anything that may be useful, just give us a call. And do not think about leaving town." He added, wtih a glare.

Dane Macken glared right back, "Of course Agent Booth."

Booth and Stella then left, and Dane slammed and locked the door after they left. "I do not like him." Booth stated nonchalantly as he started the car.

**A/N: yeah, that was a really strange ending, but I had to end somewhere. Hope you enjoy this chapter! -SB**


	5. Suspected

**A/N: Hey all. I finally have time to work on my stories. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them! Keep reviewing, it means a happy author and faster updates. It only takes a few seconds and I really appreciate it! -SB**

**~~Suspected~~**

Angela put the finishing touches on her sketch of Lynn, adding a bit more depth to her cheekbones. She looked up just as Brennan walked in. She smiled somberly, "Hey Ange. Is your sketch done yet?"

Angela smiled back, somewhat wistfully. "Yeah. It's a perfect match." she said quitly, gesturing to the photo of smiling Lynn Macken Mac had sent her via email. Lynn was very pretty. She was tan, probably from being outside all the time with softball, her blonde hair had soft curls in it, falling in riglets down to her mid back. Her head was the shape of a soft oval, and she had a small, straight nose. Her cheekbones rode high on her face, giving it a toned look. Her chocolate brown eyes were sparkling, and her cheeks weres lightly pink, like the person who had snapped the photo had just made her laugh. Her lips were pink and pretty, one side curled up to smile for the photo, exposing neat rows of white teeth.

For a minute the two best friends sat in silence, gazing at the sketch of Lynn. It was like some tiny memorial service in their heads. It was Brennan who broke the silence. "We should get this to one of the detectives. They can run DNA to make sure that it's really her."

Angela just peered up and smiled, but the smile didn't transfer to her eyes, like when she was truly happy. Brennan always saw the smile in Angela's eyes when she was with Hodgins. But after their engagement broke off last year, Brennan had been seeing the eye-smile less and less. Even though she wasn't wild about coworker relationships, she really missed Angela and Jack being together. They seemed much more productive when they'd been together. Which made Brennan ponder what would happen if she and Booth got together... But she dismissed the silly thought away. Booth didn't think about her that way. She was sure of it. "Yeah. Got it sweetie." Angela said quietly, gently tearing the drawing out of her sketchbook.

* * *

Brennan carried Angela's sketch to Mac in his office. She handed it over and he scrutinized it thoroughly. "This seems like a pretty good match."

Brennan nodded quickly, "I agree. We just need to do DNA to be certain. Are Booth and Detective Bona Sera back from questioning the victim's brother yet?" Brennan had to focus hard to add Stella's name to her list. But she was really only interested in seeing if Booth was back.

"No, but I got a call from Stella. They're on their way back now. It seems Lynn's brother may be the culprit."

Brennan nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you, Detective Taylor." and she began to walk away.

"Dr. Brennan?" She turned to face him. "You can just call me Mac."

She just smiled lightly, "Okay, Mac." Just then, Booth and Stella walked into Mac's office.

"Oh, hey Booth." Brennan said, a bit too brightly.

"Hey, Bones," Booth said back, trying to hide his happiness over her very bright greeting.

"So what's this stuff you have on the brother?" Mac asked curiously.

"Well, other than the fact that he's a total bastard?" Booth asked sarcastically, "My gut tells me he's got an anger control issue, he was angry with his sister for not keeping her in touch, killed her, and dumped her in the river."

"There you go, using your gut again." Brennan muttered, exasperated.

"No, I'm theorizing," Booth insisted.

Mac and Stella watched Booth and Brennan go back and forth, like they were in their own little world. "You call it theorizing, but I call it guesswork. Where's your evidence?"

"On that brother's face! When I told him his sister was dead, all he said was 'Oh.'"

"So he can't be shocked hearing that his sister is dead?"

"Well, I expected a bit more than an 'Oh.'" Booth said.

"'Oh' is a typical verbal reaction to something shocking Booth." Brennan argued.

"So your brother would only say 'Oh' if I told him you died?"

Brennan gave him a grumpy face and said, "That's different."

"Um, can I cut in?" Stella asked curteously. "You two are getting a little off track."

"We're just discussing motive." Booth said defensively.

"Since when did _motive _come into the picture?" Brennan exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

"Whoa!" Mac said, putting his hands into a big STOP sign. "Let's just discuss this Dane Macken charecter. Got it?"

Brennan just crossed her arms and stared off out the window. Booth just rolled his eyes affectionately at her. "Sure. We questioned him and we still need to have a chat with one Adrian or Aiden Westenhausen, who Dane claims to have been her boyfriend, and her softball team, her coach, her friends, and anyone else we can scoop up." Stella answered.

"Okay. I'll get Adam on Mr. Westenhausen." Mac stated, reaching for his phone. He quickly called Adam and got him searching for Aiden/Adrian.

"Meanwhile, I need to get back to the lab and identify the cause of death." Brennan said, striding out the door.

* * *

**Eh? So what did you think? Sorry, that chapter was a wee bit short. It was kind of sort of filler. Next chapter will be more interesting I promise. I just wanted to get this chapter up. Hope you enjoy it ;) -SB **

**Remember to review!!! :)**


	6. Accused

**A/N: Hi all. I hope you are enjoying my story :) If you have any suggestions, feel free to review. (PLEASE NOTE: i just realized that a few of my chapters were a little screwy, so sorry. I think it was chapter four that was WAYYY messed up. Like, the whole dialogue of the interrogation was missing, so I corrected it a little while ago... so if you havent read anything about the interrogation of the brother, GO BACK TO CHAPTER FOUR!!!!) And also, pardon my spelling/gramatcal errors. my keyboard is kind of funny, so it thinks it's fun to screw me up when I'm typing-SB**

**~~Accused~~**

Dr. Brennan and Zack were bent over the remains, which were carefully laid out on an autopsy table. "See the mark here?" Zack asked, pointing to a wound on her first rib. "This was most likely the fatal stab. Looking at the stains on the underside of the ribs, it probably severed the aorta."

"The aorta is the main artery in the heart," Dr. Brennan explained to Booth and Detective Flack, who were both standing nearby. "When the knife hit it, blood would've spurted at least five to six feet. This person who killed her would've been _covered _in her blood."

"So I'll get a warrant for the brother's house and search it for any blood covered clothing." Booth said.

"Well, we don't have much grounds for a warrant. Other than your gut feeling, that is." Brennan said, rolling her eyes, and then turning back to the remains. She began to examine the cut marks on the ribs. "These marks are from an downward angle, so this person was most likely taller than our victim. We'll need Angela to run some simulations to get an idea of how tall our killer was."

Booth noded. "And while you do that, I'm going to question her coach and her team."

* * *

Booth went alone this time, and he was extremely disappointed that Bones couldn't join him. But he shoved her out of his mind as he neared the softball fields. If she was on his mind, he most definately wouldn't be able to focus.

The familiar sounds of yelling coaches, bats hitting balls, and the unmistakeable snap of a glove catching a fly ball met Booth as he walked closer to the fields. Walking into the new-looking dugout, the head coach approached Booth, looking slightly wary. Booth noticed his eyes darted about from time to time, and he looked anxious: shifting his weight from foot to foot, fiddling with anything his fingers came into contact with. Booth recognized him as someone who had something to hide. "Agent Booth, I presume?" The coach said, extending his hand.

Booth shook it. "I'm Dan Rahloes. Lynn was my best pitcher. I just can't believe she's gone," he said, his voice cracking a bit.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Booth said, in his trademark empathetic tone. "What can you tell me about Lynn? Personal life, friends?"

Rahloes came back to focus, after staring off into the distance forlornly. "Oh, uh, yeah. Lynn was great. She was kind to everyone, didn't drink or do drugs or alcohol at parties like a lot of these girls do. She was really dedicated. For the past year she's been dating Adrian Westenhausen. He's my nephew, so I knew what was going on between them."

"To the best of your knowledge, were Lynn and Adrian sexually active?"

Rahloes chuckled, "Oh, I know they were. I went to my brother, er, Adrian's father's, house for Thanksgiving and Lynn was there this year. They went upstairs and I walked into the bathroom and there they were, getting it on right on the floor."

"What happened after that?" Booth asked.

"Adrian begged me to keep it a secret. My brother and his wife would've hit the ceiling if they found out. I agreed, but they had to promise me that I'd never catch them like that again. And I went back downstairs." Booth noticed a little anger in Mr. Rahloes eyes as he said it.

Booth's gut was telling him that the Dan Rahloes was sleeping with Lynn Macken. But he didn't want to ask it and have Rahloes screaming 'lawyer.' "I understand. So anyone else I could talk to?"

Rahloes gestured out to the field. "You could talk to any one of these girls about Lynn. They all adored her and looked up to her. But you should talk to Becky and Shawna. They've been best friends with Lynn since preschool."

Rahloes pointed out to the brunette, green-eyed pitcher out on the mound, Becky Moss, and the dark haired, dark skinned catcher crouched low behind the plate, Shawna Briggs.

Booth called them over. Becky jogged up to Booth, and was obviously trying to flash tanned leg at the attractive FBI agent beneath tiny pink shorts. Shawna ran up as fast as her catcher's gear would allow her, yanking off her helmet as she went, her dark hair spilling out.

"Hi, Agent Booth. Coach said you wanted to ask us about Lynn?" Becky asked, her voice all sweet and flirty.

"Did Lynn get in some sort of trouble? Because whatever it is, you got it wrong. Lynn would never do anything bad, to anyone or anything." Shawna said, loyalty shining in her eyes.

"Totally," Becky followed backing her up, "Lynn hit a cat once with her car and she was a wreck for months. She didn't even kill the thing. No way she did anything bad, no way."

Booth was mentally strangling the coach for not telling the team their friend was dead. "Lynn didn't do anything. She was murdered. I'm very sorry for your loss."

Becky looked as though she had just gotten shot. Shawna looked worse. The two girls burst into tears, and hugged each other, feverishly clinging at their last best friend. Booth hated this part. He tells someone their loved one died, they cry and he gets to stand by awkwardly waiting for them to get ahold of themselves.

Shawna was the first to come around. She sniveled horribly and rose from her desperate embrace with Becky. "Come on Bex," she said, voice quivering, "You know what Lynn would say if she were here,"

"'Don't cry over spilled milk, you silly willigans.'" the girls said simultaneously, smiling through their tears.

"Okay, you've gotta ask questions." Becky said, sniveling loudly one last time. Her flirty charade was totally gone. "I'm studying in criminal justice, so I know the drill."

"Thank you. What can you tell me about Lynn's life outside of softball? Any enemies? Differences in opinion? Anything like that?"

Shawna still looked a bit like her heart had been ripped out and tossed into center field, so Becky was the one who answered. "No. Everybody adored Lynn. She was literally nice to EVERYONE. When she talked to you, she'd make you feel like the most important person in the world. She hung on every word like you were talking about the most interesting thing ever. She just made everyone feel like they were her best friend." Becky started to get misty again as tears started to slip down her cheeks.

"Has she had any arguments lately with anyone?" Booth asked. The girls glanced anxiously at each other, over at the dugout, where Rahloes still was, then back at each other.

"Actually," Shawna said, her voice rough and scratchy from crying, "Becky and I are always early for games but Lynn always gets," she stumbled, "er, got, there before us, and we overheard her and Coach arguing."

"Do you know what it was about?" Booth inquired. His earlier suspiscions about Rahloes and Lynn sleeping together were yelling louder and louder in his head.

"No, the door blocked the worst of it and we couldn't hear their words. But when Lynn came out..." Becky trailed off, at a loss for words, "We have known Lynn for 16 years, and we have _never_ seen her so angry and upset at anything ever before."

"We tried to ask her about it, and she just said it was about Coach's handling of some game. But she never complains- complained-about that stuff." Shawna said, slipping up her words again.

Booth scribbled a few things down in his little notebook then handed them his card. "Thank you both. I'm really sorry for your loss. If you think of anything else, don't hesitate to call."

Booth was hopping into his car when his gut feeling was given a reward. His cell rang, and Bones' name popped up in the caller ID. "Hey, Bones. What's up?"

"She was pregnant, Booth. Lynn Macken was _pregnant._"

**A/N: Please review. Hope you enjoyed :) I'll post another chapter when I get five reviews.**


	7. Certainty

**A/N: Sorry about the sluggish update. I am busy with my other stories, that, frankly, are generating a lot more hits and reviews than this one... I still am in love with this story and the plot, but I'm just all around busy. Maybe more reviews will lead to faster updates? :)**

* * *

"What? How can you tell?" Booth asked. He had usually trusted his gut with things, and with the way Mr. Rahloes was acting, he assumed they were in a sexual relationship. But _pregnant? _That one totally blindsided him.

"Well, it was highly unlikely but somehow there was a miniscule amount of blood trapped in the hearing aid, so it wasn't at all compromised by the water. Cam ran some tests on it, and her blood chemistry is identical to someone who is pregnant. And, after Cam told me that, I went back and looked over the remains, and I saw that her pelvic bones had shifted to widen the birth canal." Brennan paused, gathering herself for the next admission, "The fetus must've... washed down river."

They were both silent for a full minute, grieving the loss of the life that was never given a chance to live. "So there's no way to run a paternity test?"

"Not unless we find a bone or something of the fetus that was left behind. Zack and I are going over the remains again to check. You never know, although it's extremely unlikely, since Zack cleaned the bones already. If we don't find anything, Detective Taylor agreed to get an underwater recovery team together to search for the remains."

"Okay. Sounds good, Bones. I'm going to talk to the boyfriend now."

"All right. See you soon." she added before hanging up.

_Not soon enough,_ Booth said mentally before flipping his phone shut, ending their conversation.

* * *

Going over the bones again, Brennan and Zack found nothing out of the ordinary. "Go over all of the places a bone could be hidden, like in the carpals, metacarpals, the tarsals, and metatarsals. Check out the phalanges as well. I'll see if anything is lodged in the spine."

They feverishly worked over Lynn's remains, looking for any anomalies. Zack went through each and every tiny bone of the hands and feet, looking for any sign that they did not belong there. Brennan went through the spine, paying special attention to the tailbone. Their persistence paid off. "Dr. Brennan! I found something!" Zack said, relief coloring his voice. He held up a metatarsal of the foot. "Look at the ends of this metatarsal," he said, passing the white bone off to Brennan. She examined it closely, squinting at the ends that Zack had pointed out.

"This isn't a metatarsal at all," she murmured, almost to herself. "This is a fetal ulna bone."

* * *

Booth pulled up in front of a small house that was the address of Adrian Westenhausen. Booth knocked loudly on the door, and heard movement inside. "Coming!" Someone yelled.

A young man opened the door. To be brief, he was hot. He had bronze hair, that was of medium length, and at the moment, extremely tousled. His chin a a tiny two day stubble on it, and he was really muscular. Nothing like Booth's guns of steel, of course, but it was a start. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a tight black t-shirt that hugged all of his muscles. "Can I help you?" he asked.

Booth studied his face closely. If he was the murderer, there would be something guarded in his eyes, like he was holding something back. But Adrian's eyes were full of openness, and at the moment, slight confusion. "Are you Adrian Westenhausen?"

He nodded, a look of slight confusion still on his face. "Yeah, that's me."

"FBI, Special Agent Seeley Booth," he said, flashing his ID. "Can I come in?"

Adrian opened the door wider, "Yeah, man. Of course."

Booth stepped into the small home. He did his normal survey, looking at the house from all angles. He'd expected it to look like a house does after a party: beer cans and bottles, food everywhere, bras and panties hanging on fans, that sort of thing. But Adrian's house was light and open. The one floor home was meticulously decorated. To the left was a small office, with an antique oak desk and a laptop. Booth noticed pictures all over it. THere were a bunch of photos of Lynn and Adrian, holding hands, hugging, kissing... They looked like a normal, happy couple. Straight ahead was the kitchen and living room. Black leather couches matched granite countertops, and wall hangings gave a personal feel. Booth immediately took notice to the fact that most of the artwork had some sort of heart design. Beyond that was a bedroom, and Booth could only see that the bedspread was green. To the immediate right was a small home gym. Booth assumed this guy played a sport, which was pretty much plain as day.

Booth's assessment took place in a matter of seconds. "So, when was the last time you saw Lynn Macken?" He asked as they wandered into the kitchen.

Booth noticed the look of hope in Adrian's eye at Lynn's name. "A couple of months ago. We..." he sighed deeply, "We broke up."

"And you haven't seen her since?"

"No," Adrian said, but his tone said that the breakup wasn't his decision. Adrian sat down at a small table, resting his elbow on it.

"I'm sorry I have to tell you this, but Lynn was murdered."

Adrian looked as bad if not worse than Lynn's best friends. "We came back here after our anniversary date. I cooked her dinner." Tears began to glisten in his eyes. "We'd been together for three years. And I... I made lasagna. That was her favorite food..." Tears were sliding freely down his cheeks, and he was obviously making no effort to stop them. He reached into the pocket of his jeans, and withdrew a tiny, black, velvet box. "I was going to propose to her. I loved her so damn much." He buried his face in his hands and sobbed with a reckless abandon. "But before I got the chance, she said we needed to take some time apart, that she needed to gain some perspective on our relationship."

Booth let Adrian get the rest of his tears out. "I'm sorry, but I have a few questions to ask you, but only if you're up to it."

"No, I..." he paused, taking a large breath in and letting it out a few seconds later. "Lynn wouldn't want me so torn up like this. What do you need to ask?"

Booth was immediately impressed with Adrian's maturity and ability to cope. "What happened after the two of you broke up?"

Taking the velvet box back in his hand, Adrian opened it tenderly, admiring the beautiful stone. "I accepted her decision, I mean, we were together for three years, and I guess she just wanted to... I don't know, try out some other guys before committing. I mean, that doesn't sound like her at all, but I can't think of any other explanation. Anyway, I just didn't even show her the ring. I didn't want to make her feel trapped or anything, you know?"

Booth observed Adrian's facial expressions intently, but invisibly. This guy was definitely not the type to snap and murder his girlfriend when she refused to marry him. "Did Lynn have any enemies you knew of?"

"No everyone loved Lynn," he paused, "Actually, a few weeks before we broke up, she was have an argument on the phone..."

_||FLASHBACK||_

_"God dammit, yes I'm sure!" Lynn yells, her voice raised which isn't like her, plus she swore, which is even rarer. Adrian pauses in the doorway to his house, a little freaked about his girlfriend's angry voice. Lynn hardly ever gets angry. There was a pause while she listens to the person on the other end. "Well, I don't know! That's why I'm telling you... Yes, I think it's more likely that it's you... No... God, just shut up! You can't control me! Get out of my life!" she screams. Adrian hears the phone get slammed back into the cradle. He then hears Lynn's soft sobs. He dashes in, finding her seated at the kitchen table, her head in her arms, crying quietly._

_"Hey, babe! What happened?" Adrian asks, concern coloring his voice. Rushing to her side, he crouches next to her chair so he can see her face._

_She looks startled to see him. "Adrian, I... sorry, I thought you were out..."_

_"But what was that argument about?"_

Panic streaks across her face for an instant, but a cool calm is replaced a millisecond later. "Nothing. Just me and Becky are having an argument."

"I know you Lynn. I know Becky. You two never fight. What's going on?"

"Really, hon, it's nothing you need to worry about," Lynn insisted. "So," she said quickly, before Adrian could say anything more, and standing up. "How was your day? What do you want for dinner?"

||END OF FLASHBACK||

Booth was silent for a minute absorbing what he'd heard. "Thank you, Adrian. You've been really helpful."

Booth was nearly certain Lynn had been arguing with Dan Rahloes about her unborn child.


	8. Collateral

**This chapter is dedicated to the men and women who lost their lives in the 9/11 terror attacks.  
**

**So sorry about the hiatus. Life and muse run wild with me. They've had their fun, and now I'm going to try and get back on track with my hiatuses. You also might notice my style of writing has changed somewhat drastically. Keep in mind it's been a year since I last updated this story and a lot happens in a year. Anyhoodles, enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Bones or CSI:NY. Obviously. They'd be _so_ much better if I did.**

**~~Collateral~~  
**

Angela sat on a stool in the room the crime lab had set aside for the Jeffersonian team. It was nice enough- walled in glass and sized large enough for the entire team to fit comfortably, it was filled with a table for the remains, diagnostic machines that Angela could only begin to guess at the purpose for, and multiple computers, one of which Angela was sitting in front of. She clicked through photos of the deceased girl, trying to not stare to hard at them. Brennan had asked her to refract the light sources and remove coloration to make any bruises visible through the photograph. The first one she was able to clear up successfully was of the victims left arm. Zack had noted that the elbow had been dislocated perimortem, and Brennan wanted to know how. She'd begrudgingly admitted that flesh could be quite useful in determining that sort of thing.

Angela printed the first image of the bruising on the arm- it looked like a hand had grabbed her elbow and yanked. Angela winced, subconsciously touching her own elbow out of a perverse uncertainty of its condition. She properly marked the photo and cited it in her report as photo 23.1; and after printing all the available angles of the injury site, and citing the last one as 23.7, she moved on to another injury. Brennan discovered slight compression fractures in spinal vertebrae C7 to T4, so the artist's next mission was to examine photos of the victim's back. She repeated the steps she'd taken with the other photos, refraction and decolorization before the next bruise appeared, significantly darker and more severe than the one on the victim's arm. The bruise was at its worst along one line that spanned her entire back, and lighted the further from the line the bruise was. It looked as though she'd been thrust against a sharp edge- like a long box- that pressed into her back, causing the compression fractures. She repeated the process over and over again, over each crime scene photograph. Her eyes burned and felt dry from staring at the computer screen for so long.

The tedium was needed. Angela, at times, wished she was more like Brennan in that the anthropologist could compartmentalize and look at victims and not feel a shred of sadness or empathy at a life that was ended prematurely. Yet, she wasn't sure she ever wanted, or even had the capacity, to be that cold and detached. Booth had brought her best friend gradually out of her shell, showing her what it was like to feel, to empathize, to associate with the living rather than the dead.

She rolled away from the computer, finding herself staring at a glass wall instead. She was shocked to see it dark outside. She rubbed her eyes to make sure her optical nerves were functioning properly. They were. Angela hadn't worked many late nights. Once she identified the victim, her job was typically done. That was her job description. Forensic art is a law enforcement police sketching of composite drawing, age progression, image modification, post-mortem skull reconstruction and court appearances. That was all. Yet, in her time at the Jeffersonian, she'd morphed into some sort of sheik computer geekette who was simultaneously a computer and sound engineering specialist. She was a vastly different person than the one she had been when she'd been making caricatures in the park to save up to go back to Paris and Brennan had approached her about giving a face to that skull. She hadn't even had any technical training when she drew that face.

Now it seemed that every weekend she was interrupted by the soft, tinny noise of her cell phone, heralding her to some police department or FBI investigations she'd never heard of to work out the intricacies of a computer-related case, draw faces of suspects, give faces to skulls, decipher noises with the complexities of sound engineering... the list went on. When she was called by the FBI, she blamed it solely on Booth for giving her such great marks. Of course, the FBI merely stated that the Jeffersonian was contracted with the FBI and she was legally bound to work with them. She still blamed Booth.

She finished up the photos on the body, finding no more noteworthy contusions that related to the case. The numbers on the clock of her computer flashed somewhere in the AM, but she couldn't bring herself to look at the numbers. The entire crime lab was still alive with activity- the graveyard shift. She took her satchel, slinging it over her shoulder, searching for her car keys while briefly considering driving home before quickly squashing that train of thought. She'd fall asleep at the wheel before she even left the parking garage. She gave up on the keys. She walked through the crime lab, not really knowing what to look for. A couch?

She was surprised to see Mac Taylor, 'the boss' as everyone referred to him, still working. If his corner office or underling respect was any indicator, he'd built up quite a bit of career capital, and Angela was near-positive most bosses didn't stay this late. Cam was the exception when they were working a high-profile case, but the case the Jeffersonian team was working was anything but that. She supposed that there was another case, seeing as how New York was a pretty violent city, and Angela would bet that they had more cases in a day than her team had in a week.

It suddenly occurred to her Detective Taylor may be able to locate her a couch. She knocked on his door, also glass. _Haven't these people ever heard of privacy? _He looked up, gesturing for her to come in. "What can I do for you, Ms. Montenegro?" he asked, putting down his pen.

Angela walked into the office, standing a few feet away from his desk. "Sorry to bug you with such a strange request, but do you have any idea where I could find a couch? I stayed late processing photos and I know if I got into my car I'd fall asleep in about a second, so..."

A smile found his lips, "We can get you better than a couch." He looked past her seeing someone who must have been passing by before waving them into his office.

"Whaddya need, Mac?" Angela heard the unmistakable New York-accented voice of Danny Messer behind her.

"I'd appreciate it if you could show Ms. Montenegro to the blackout room before you left," Mac answered.

Angela looked back, and Danny seemed to be ready to head home for the night, or morning, rather. She also saw of look of complaint on his face, but it vanished quickly. "Sure."

"Thank you, Detective Messer," Angela said, earnestly once they'd exited Mac's office.

"Sure," he answered sounding a little impatient. Probably wants to get home to the wife and kid. He led her to the elevator, and Angela must have sent him a questioning glance, to which he answered, "It's a few floors down."

She nodded wordlessly as he pushed the button with the down arrow on it. As they waited, silently and awkwardly for the elevator to arrive, Angela realized this would be the perfect time to ask about Detective Flack. Charging into the uncomfortable topic with her usual candor, Angela outright asked, "What's wrong with Detective Flack?"

Danny looked at her questioningly. If Angela wasn't such a people person, she might have missed the guarded look in his eyes. "Sorry?"

Angela met his gaze unflinchingly. "You heard me. He just looks so sad and I'm more than a little curious as to why that is." As honest as she could get.

"I don't mean any disrespect, Ms. Montenegro, but its really none of your business."

"None taken," she told him, but curiosity still burned through her and she was never one to let things go, especially the ones that piqued her curiosity and interest as this man had. She was about to say something, but couldn't find the right words. Whenever this happened, Angela usually found herself able to express her thoughts into her artwork. Back in college, Roxie continually told Angela what a gift it was to be able to express exactly what you mean to say through art if words didn't quite cover it, and that Roxie wished she had that same gift. She took out her sketchbook, flipping to a half-completed sketch of Flack's face. She'd drawn it from an angle, the exact way he'd looked when she first saw him. She found the 4B pencil in her bag she'd desired, and began shadowing his eyes.

At this point, Danny was staring at her like she was losing a grip on reality.

She sighed. "It's not done, but its a good start." She lifted her sketchbook to the questioning eyes of Danny Messer.

Even he was able to see the stark sadness in her drawing, even when it wasn't finished. Harsh, darkly drawn lines made up his face, eyes smoldering like dark coals, jaw tight, entire face downcast and morose. Its hard to find the right words to describe such a deep sadness Angela had etched on paper, borne of nothing but a pencil and a woman's perception of the world.

The elevator pinged. Doors slid open, revealing an empty elevator, and the pair stepped in. Angela never broke eye contact with him, going with the more direct line of questioning. Brennan would've been proud.

"I'm really not sure if its my place... I mean, Don's my best friend," Danny said in explanation.

They were nearing the target floor. "Look, it's really not my place to pry. Despite popular belief, I am probably the most normal person on our team. Anyone else wouldn't understand." There was question in Danny's eyes that Angela perceived as inquiry about an explanation. "Brennan's in her shell, Booth's obsessed with getting her out of it, Zack is Zack, Cam does what's necessary, and Hodgins..." Angela bit her lip, not quite sure how to describe the man she'd loved, still loved, and whom she considered the biggest regret of her life, walking away from him and whatever bright, sparkling future they had ahead of them; probably filled with children (Angela had often fantasized about dozens of the little ones running around), family dinners, birthday parties, festive, stereotypical holidays, and the fullness of a happy family filling up the Hodgins household. Of course, Angela had always been the girl dreaming of a little house on a quaint suburban block with the white picket fence and a big Golden Retriever. Yes, that had been Angela's ideal future. In that future she'd been married to Jack. She'd once wanted to name their first son Micheal. She wasn't sure what would happen now. The road that was her life was stretching off in the distance with no foreseeable or memorable landmarks in the future.

"It's okay," Danny eventually said after a few moments of silence and noticing the faraway look in Angela's eyes when that last man's name had come up. "I... he needs someone to talk to, anyone to talk to."

The elevator pinged, signaling their arrival. The doors opened, they stepped out, and they closed, sure and smooth as clockwork. There was a small corridor, barely 20 feet long, before it forked into two different hallways off to the left. The closest door was a plain wooden door that one would associate with office space. The only item that indicated otherwise was a nameplate strip at eye level. _NYPD Crime Lab Blackout Room: NYPD Employees Only_.

"What happened?"

"Coupla months ago, Don's partner was escorting a man named Connor Dunbrook to court."

Angela recognized the name Dunbrook. She seemed to recall several newspapers boasting headlines such as _Caught Red-Handed: Robert Dunbrook goes down for Embezzlement and Fraud _

___New York Sees Dunbrook's True Colors_

_Robert Dunbrook Arrested: Hearing Set To Begin Next Month  
_

_Dunbrook Arrest Leads to Corruption Crackdown  
_

"No relation to Robert Dunbrook?"

Danny nodded, "Son." A deep breath before he continued, "Decided to testify against his father to try'n lower his murder charge." Angela nodded, encouraging him to continue, "Good son was treating his lawyers to breakfast at Tillery Diner, and two detectives and an officer escorted him there. One of them was Don's partner, Jessica Angell."

Angela was familiar with Tillery's. She'd had lunch there just the previous day while Booth and Brennan had been recovering the remains and gathering evidence. It looked like your average, All-American diner that you pass by, and without even going inside, you know it has the best apple pie ever. She'd enjoyed her patty melt very much, and even tested out her apple pie theory. It proved to be true. She called upon her near-flawless memory- which had been helpful in her fledgling artist days- and thought that they'd maybe done some recent remodeling, and she also recalled a date on the menu that had been labeled _Grand Re-Opening._

Yes, something tragic and massively damaging had gone down in Tillery Diner. And it had somehow involved Flack's partner, this Angell woman.

"Flack and his partner were more than partners, weren't they?"

Danny nodded in confirmation. "They were so professional and kept it so under the radar no one really knows how long they were together." His statement made Angela consider how Brennan and Booth would fare...

"Angell was on the phone with Don when professional kidnappers busted through the front door in a semi." Danny winced as he remembered how he'd had to listened to that conversation that the two detectives had before Angell's world had shattered in a hail of glass shards and bullets. Danny had felt like he was intruding on something private, and that he shouldn't have been listening at all. Yet he'd been forced to, it was evidence, after all, over and over and over again. He was the one who'd typed up the transcript. He hadn't liked it- exposing their private conversation to anyone's prying eyes. He tried to keep it as obscure as possible, attempting to mess with security clearance on the case, make sure only the select few who knew about their relationship could see it. He'd failed miserably.

_"Flack."_

_"Tonight, you, me, a bottle of wine... I'll wear that black negligee I know you like."_

_"...Mom?"_

_A chuckle. "Never mind. What are you doing?"_

_"Breaking up with an old friend; you?"_

_"Babysitting. Taking Connor Dunbrook over to the Grand Jury. With a murder rap hanging over his own head, he's decided to save his own ass and testify against daddy. It'll be enough to put Robert Dunbrook away for at least twenty years. The good son's treating us to breakfast."_

_"Lemme guess, Tillery Diner, two eggs over-easy, turkey bacon on the crispy side, glass of OJ."_

_A pause._

_"Am I that predictable?"_

_A chuckle. "Yes, you're that predictable. Alright, well, tonight sounds great. I'll pick up some stuff, be at your place about-"_

_An explosion._

_"Down! Everybody get down!"_

_Gunfire. A grunt. More gunfire._

_"Jess! Get out, get out!" Siren._

_A thud. A moan. A cough. Liquid drops on floor. Two more gunshots. Silence.  
_

_(Voice muted, far away) "Jess! Jess! Hey, babe, look at me. You're gonna be alright." Unintelligible words spoken. "Where's the ambulance!"_

_Glass shards moving, crunching. "You're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay..." Voice fades.  
_

_Call disconnected.  
_

"Angell... she... she went down fighting. Took one to the shoulder but still managed to unload her entire magazine, managed to shoot the man who shot her. She took one to the torso, and that was that. Don got there while she was bleeding out on the floor."

_Oh, God._

"Don tried to rush her to the hospital 'cause the ambulance wasn't comin', but... it wasn't enough. She died on the operating table. There was just too much damage, and she just lost too much blood... I'm sure Don would've spilled all of his if it meant that she could live. In all the years I've known Don Flack, I never saw him cry 'til the day Angell died."

_Angell... the irony is just depressing. _"That explains it," Angela murmured softly. She took out her sketchbook and a 2B pencil, adding more shading with the newly discovered depth to the man she was drawing.

Danny looked off to the left. "Look, he's havin' a rough go right now, and he's refusing to talk to anyone. I don't know you, really, even if I did, I probably wouldn't be asking you, but..."

Angela knew what his unasked question was as he trailed off into silence. "Yeah. We'll see, I suppose." Another awkward silence. "I'm sure your wife wants to see you, so I'll let you go."

Danny made a sound of acknowledgment, turning towards the elevator.

"Danny," Angela said, thinking that after their candid and honest (she hoped) conversation, they'd moved past formal workplace pretenses. He turned back halfway. "Thanks."

Nodding, he only said, "Yeah." He re-boarded the elevator. "By the way," he added before the doors began to close, "You didn't hear it from me." The doors finally closed, Danny gone. Angela turned to the doorway, entering the blackout room.

The light was nearly completely extinguished, just enough to see her way in and out. Futons with fluffy looking duvets and pillows were the only furniture. Angela realized the absence of noise as high-quality sound buffering technology, and blackout curtains blocked any light, artificial or otherwise, from the city that never sleeps. Angela noticed a sign, written in neat, precise handwriting that had a distinct female quality to it. _Silence or turn off all electronic or noise-making devices._

Angela found herself impressed. Only a few of the futons were occupied, and she found herself a comfortable one situated next to the blacked-out windows. Even if she couldn't see them, she knew they were there. She appreciated that. Since she was a kid, she hated rooms with no windows. Sweets would have a field day with that one.

She was settled in the soft futon and underneath the (to Angela's surprise and delight) freshly cleaned duvet, when she finally thought about the information she'd just received. It was nearly inconceivable, really. Flack couldn't have been more than early thirties. How old was Angell? Probably close to Flack's age. Sympathy clenched her gut. _Those two should've had another, forty, fifty years of coming home safely to each other._

If she hadn't seen Flack herself, the physical pain he seemed to be in all the time, she may have doubted the depth of their feelings, where their relationship was when Angell had died. But seeing the pain, the unbearable agony, of losing someone you love, deeply, deeply love, written on his features like it was written in plain English, made her believe.

She had the urge to know what had happened, what had torn that couple apart, what had reduced the man she'd met to tatters. She absolved to look up the official report in the morning.

With that resolution, Angela's eyes finally closed, the peacefulness of the blackout room shielding its inhabitants against the vicious unknown awaiting outside.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

"Zack, make casts of the wounds on the scapula and ribs, and give them to Angela so she can make a reconstruction of possible weapons." She carefully examined C7 and T4. "The bruising Angela discovered would be consistent with these fractures," she said, more to herself than to Zack. She normally didn't repeat unnecessary information that wasn't exactly pertinent to her task at hand. She surmised that Booth was rubbing off on her, and she decided that that was a good thing. _I wonder what else rubbing against Booth would do... _She refocused her lust-hazed gaze, trying to stay objective and focused on the remains in front of her. Her eyes picked apart the fractures, looking quite alike fissures on the off-white of bone. They seemed to originate on on point, radiating from the bottom of T2. Neurons pinged as she made a connection. "Zack," she called. "Come here."

Like the fantastic assistant he was, Zack obeyed wordlessly.

"I think I know what happened." She found a desk that was of satisfactory height, and pushed Zack against it. Like usual, he said nothing, but confusion was evident in his eyes. She imagined his brilliant mind was working out dozens of scenarios about why she was doing what she was. "The injuries... are consistent... with this sort of position." Brennan had him pinned against the desk with her body covering his, her arm across his chest, bending him into a arch against the sharpness of the desk against his mid-back. "Its not the right height, but it is a plausible hypothesis," she answered, letting him up.

Zack considered this new information, turning over many possibilities in less than a second before answering, "Hodgins needs to take swabs of the wound site to see if there is any trace left."

"Hodgins needs to take swabs of what?" Said man approached, baring samples and a folder full of test results.

"The wound site. The victim was pressed against a rigid edge like a desk or a railing, and evidence could lead us to a primary crime scene."

"Yeah, I'll do that, but I might already have a primary crime scene for you," he said, handing her the folder.

"How so?"

"I found your typical river sediments, like plagioglase feldspar and pyroxene made up of manganese and iron, but I did find a special little something that could point to where the body was dumped."

Brennan opened the folder. There was a graph printed under the words _MS Results: Samples 2.6.43_, with small spikes in the line, labeled with different numerical values. Brennan was sure if she studied them with more thought and care she could decipher the meaning, but Hodgins seems to have an answer for her. "There is an unusually high concentration of biotite," he said, pointing to on of the higher spikes.

"Black mica," Zack supplied automatically.

Brennan picked up that thread. "That can't be common in the East River."

Hodgins grinned, "Its not." the entomologist strode over to a computer, pulling up a news article. "Last year, there was an accident at Hell Gate Bridge. A train carrying black mica was derailed and fell into the East River. The train was recovered, but most of the black mica was never removed."

Brennan pressed Booth's speed-dial number. He was number one. Then Russ, then Angela, then Dad... but Booth came first. Brennan was certain if she informed Dr. Sweets of that fact he would give her several backless psychological insights as to why that was. She of course would answer with the logical explanation- he was her partner. She had to call him at an instant's notice in their line of work. Secretly she hoped she was number one on his... for other reasons.

_"Booth."_

"The victim was most likely dumped in the river near Hell Gate Bridge."

_"That was fast."_

"Hodgins found black mica on the remains. There was an accident on that bridge that spilled black mica exclusively in that area, and no other place on the river has that high a concentration."

_"Okay, I'll tell the New York squad. I'm almost back to the crime lab. Wanna grab some coffee?"_

Brennan smiled. "Of course. Then we need to gather together a team to search the bridge."

_"I'll see you in 10? Angela said that the Tillery Diner is good."_

"Sounds good. I'll meet you there."**  
**

**I've made several assumptions with this chapter:**

**a) some injuries. I've no training in forensics or medical sciences so injuries in this chapter are brainchildren of logic and research. Yes, I take my stories quite seriously :)**

**b) sedimentary deposits in the East River, particularly near Hell Gate Bridge. I've tried to do my research, but information has a way of hiding when you want to find it. the variables included in the story are pretty general sediment deposits found in rivers. I am no Dr. Hodgins, so I guarantee I'm wrong on some points.**

**c) bridge accident. probably never happened, and probably never will. black mica isn't typically transported in large quantities.  
**

**Not my best chapter, but I'll try to update soon; no promises. Everything takes a back seat except school and volleyball right now. Please review- even you lurkers in the back. I want to hear from everyone, even if it's just one word. :)**

**By the way, this is me shamelessly promoting: if you hate what CBS did to Angell, toodle on over to my story Undercover. All my stories are like pieces of a puzzle.  
**


	9. Duplicity

**A/N: I added some information about the murder that I literally DID NOT TELL YOU in previous chapters. More will be added to fix up the story later. What can I say, I developed this plotline a loong time ago and, quite frankly, things get left out when you let an eighth grader who has had their creativity suppressed run wild for a little while... anyway, water under the bridge.**

**Disclaimer: FOX and CBS own this real estate. I just rent.**

**~~Duplicity~~**

Booth liked the pie at Tillery Diner. Considering his array of direct observation with the subject, Brennan supposed that his approval was hardly easily-won. "So, what are you thinking of New York?" Booth asked as he finished his apple pie, setting the fork on his plate. The overly-friendly and overly-perky waitress immediately attended to it, asking if he needed anything else. He asked for the check quickly before focusing back on the woman sitting across from him. The waitress was visibly disappointed, and stalked off to fulfill Booth's request.

"Considering I haven't had a lot of time, and I have not seen anything of sociological importance, I am unable to make a fair evaluation of the city. In the vernacular, I haven't seen any of the tourist snares yet," she answered absentmindedly.

"Tourist _traps_, Bones. Traps, not snares."

"The concept still applies. A snare is, by definition, a trap."

Booth shrugged, deciding not to squabble with her. That's not to say that he didn't enjoy their little verbal exploits, as they often led them in strange, and often enlightening directions. Once, a small quarrel about a murdered priest had led them to discussing their religious backgrounds and how they grew up. He learned that Brennan's parents were Presbyterian, and the family even went to church quite often before her parents left. Booth couldn't quite reconcile the image of a child Temperance walking through the doors of a church in her Sunday finest with the Atheistic woman who now sat before him (not that he had a problem with the Atheistic woman who now sat before him). "I had trouble believing the whole concept of God, even as a child," she'd told him, but he'd seen the way her eyes lit up as she talked about her family's church excursions. Perhaps, in her youth, she'd believed in God. Perhaps even liked attending church.

And such was the enigma of Dr. Temperance Brennan.

"I don't make the rules, Bones."

They fell off into silence for a moment before Brennan said, "I am impressed with the crime lab. They have some of the best diagnostic equipment in the world. It suffices to say I was expecting less from a city-funded program."

"I'm so glad you've come down off your high-Jeffersonian-horse to come mingle with us common folk," Booth jokingly chided, smirking.

She was about to answer his strange response when she paused, smiling in sudden insight. "Wait, you're being funny, aren't you?" Without waiting for his answer, she chuckled, leaning back in her chair. She picked up and took a sip from her steaming cup of Chai tea when her cellular jingled. Without checking caller ID- she always answered the same way, anyway- she answered, "Brennan." She noticed out of the corner of her eye the waitress had dropped off their check, and was currently eying Booth like he was a expensive Italian stallion. The image made her want to chuckle, but also slightly annoyed. She found that she was uncomfortable with the other woman looking at her partner in such a way. The notion perplexed her. Thankfully, Booth paid her no attention, and paid the amount listed. Again, the waitress left fuming.

Brennan was about to protest, as she always liked to pay for her half of the bill when she heard Hodgins' voice on the line. _"Hey, Dr. B. It's Hodgins."_

"Are we ready to visit the bridge to look for evidence?" Brennan asked jumping right to the point. She'd pay Booth back later.

It was Zack's voice that answered._"I've gathered up a team of qualified individuals to help us extract any viable evidence, Dr. Brennan."_

"Good work, Dr. Addy. Booth and I will meet you there." Without further farewell, Brennan disconnected, knowing Zack would understand the frivolity of a farewell when they would soon be meeting up again.

Booth's expectant gaze was question enough. Even though he's told her numerous times that she 'sucks' at non-verbal communication, Brennan had seen that exact look on his face enough times to know what it meant. "Zack and Hodgins are ready to start gathering evidence at Hell Gate Bridge."

**. . . . .**

A team of eight people stood before Brennan. She stood among the scientists, decked out in a dark blue wetsuit. She would be joining Sheldon Hawkes and another diver she had met only briefly and had been introduced as Paige Moore in the underwater search, while Zack and Hodgins led the search on the bridge and on the shore. She didn't recognize most of those gathered, barring Detective Bonasera, but trusted Zack and Hodgins' judgement when it came to picking the team. The wheel chair-bound Danny Messer looked on from a Coast Guard boat, jaw tight, which Brennan had learned from Booth was a sign of anger or annoyance. Hawkes mentioned that Danny was a great diver and wished that he would be joining them in the search in the murky waters of the East River.

After a quick debrief on what they were looking for and what they needed, the group dispersed.

"Listen, Dr. Brennan, there are some wicked currents down there, and you should be prepared. You too, Mouse," the last part was directed to Moore. Brennan had never been one for nicknames, but deduced that the tech's petite build and delicate features hinted at the nickname's origin.

"Dr. Hawkes, I've been diving in Cenote Esqueleto in Mexico, The Blue Hole on the Sinai Peninsula in Egypt, Devil's Caves in Florida, even the Black Hole in the Bahamas. I'm certain I can handle the East River. If you are still doubtful, I can give you a full list of my qualifications and the places I've completed successful dives."

Hawkes chuckled, but didn't bother to mask his impressed reaction. "The Black Hole? I thought that was closed for scientific dives only."

Brennan nodded. "It is. I was able to visit with a colleague while doing some research in the Bahamas on the development of Bahamian culture when I was offered the dive and I couldn't refuse the chance to observe such a fascinating place. It's as close to replicating the mid-Archaean oceanic conditions we will find anywhere on Earth. 18 meters in, there is a 1 meter thick dark purple layer of toxic bacteria containing high concentrations of hydrogen sulfide. It looks so dark it resembles the hole's floor but is actually a boundary which separates oxygenated water from oxygen-free water below it. The deoxygenated water is almost exactly like that found in the Archaean era. It was exhilarating, to say the least."

Hawkes noticed how excited her voice got as she explained her dive, and the goofy smile the spread from ear to ear. He had a feeling she had really abbreviated her description, and knew she had a lot more to say about it.

"Hydrogen sulfide is a neurotoxin. Did you experience any of its affects?" Hawkes had so many questions he wanted to ask, that being the least of them. Despite his job, which he loved, and his fascination with the human body, he'd always had an insatiable curiosity as to where life came from. He imagined Dr. Brennan did as well, and he wished he had to chance to directly observe the prehistoric conditions that had possibly led to the development of human beings.

She shook her head, happy she could converse with someone who was interested in the topic. "We didn't have a lot of time, unless we wanted to pass out, so we got to the bottom, performed a few observations and had to swim back up." Brennan could easily see Dr. Hawkes interest on the topic and was enthused at having someone to discuss this with.

Hawkes was about to ask another question when Moore interrupted. "I hate to interrupt the nerd-fest, but we have evidence to look for." (Not that Moore had any problems with this particular nerd-fest...)

"You are correct, Ms. Moore. It was detrimental to lead us so off topic, and I apologize." The trio of divers entered the river to retrieve the evidence that would hopefully help bring Lynn's killer to justice.

**. . . . .**

They found a lot of evidence. Hundreds of metal, rust, plant, and gravel samples littered Hodgins' workspace. He hoped that he would be able to match the trace he collected off of the victims remains to these samples, and perhaps linking it to any evidence taken off of a suspect. Needless to say, he wasn't thrilled about the rather unexciting array.

Perhaps just as critical, dried blood was discovered encrusting a railing, and the ground near the middle of the bridge.

_"Blood," called out Stella. She took out a yellow evidence marker, and began snapping photos of the area. There had obviously been a large pool of blood here at one point. And it had been large. The murderer hadn't bothered to clean it up, just kicked a bit of gravel over it, perhaps hoping no one would see it._

_Zack ventured to where Detective Bonasera was now crouch__ing. "I would estimate this sample to be about three weeks old," the brilliant young man observed. "The chances of finding a viable DNA sample is nearly inconceivable."_

_Stella nodded in agreement. "I'm surprised there is any evidence left at all. It stormed pretty heavily after we recovered the body." She paused, swabbing a bit of the blood and storing the sample. "The killer may have done us a favor by kicking gravel over the pool. It may have preserved enough of the blood's integrity from the elements that we could get DNA." Zack's look spoke legions. "Yes, it's not a very good chance, but if we come up high and dry in the rest of this search, this blood is the only lead we have."_

_"A valid observation. However, we don't know that it is the victim's blood." Zack said._

_Stella shrugged. "If it isn't, we will have another body to deal with sooner or later because no one can survive this much blood loss."_

Thus far, they were striking out with the blood. They collected as much of the blood as they could. They'd even dug deeper to try to find a better protected sample. Again, the DNA was too damaged to yield a match to the victim. UVA and UVB rays from the sun could damage a DNA sample within 15 minutes, let alone 3 weeks. Not to mention the series of thunderstorms the night after the victim was discovered probably had a hand in damaging their evidence.

They were, however (quite miraculously, Brennan thought), able to determine the blood type, which was AB negative, the same as the victim's type and accounted for a mere 1% of the United States population. They were still testing the blood samples, and crossing their fingers. They hoped to get lucky and maybe some of the killer's blood was mixed with the victim's.

Brennan, Hawkes, and Moore had been somewhat more successful in their search. Close to the shoreline, Brennan discovered a knife. To her chagrin, it was a common kitchen knife, that could probably could be purchased at hundreds of stores in the city. It possibly wasn't even related to the murder at all, and a passerby had just thrown it in the river. Either way, she had to bag it. A small ray of hope lit her up as she realized that the knife had an obvious knick on the blade, roughly the same size as one of the larger grooves of a key. If it was indeed the murder weapon, Angela would be able to match the faulty blade to the injuries sustained.

Back at the lab, Angela was inputting the dimensions into her data pad, which she liked to call her 'portable Angelator' and was working out a few algorithms before she could run the program. Brennan hoped that Angela would have good results with the knife, as all other evidence that may have been on it was washed away by the river.

The last, and most disappointing discovery had been small bones. Brennan thought that they could possibly be from the fetus, until she collected them and examined them back at her lab. They turned out to be frog bones.

It was what Booth would call a proverbial 'dead end'. They'd found so much evidence, only to have each piece rendered useless one by one. It was mentally taxing on both teams.

Stella and Angela began laying out a time line and all of the evidence they'd gathered so far on the lighted surface of the war room table to look for any anomalies or holes in the story.

"Okay, so the victim is killed on Hell Gate Bridge 3 weeks ago according to Dr. Hodgins," Stella said. Angela spotted the summary of the information on the file, written in Hodgins' stilted, yet neat handwriting.

_Victim's death occurred approximately 3 weeks prior to recovery of body on July 30. For details, see attached MS results, pgs. 23-27, attached bio-microbial analysis pags. 28-42  
_

_The corpse was in an unusually advanced state of decomposition for the time of year, approximate time the victim was in the water, current conditions, and river temperature. Blue Crab feeding off the victim's body led to the state of decomposition. For details, see decomposition analysis pgs. 5-11._

The senior CSI had lined up three of the clear boards, and began writing the information in white dry erase marker.

"She got pregnant approximately..." Angela looked up the information, "5 months ago." Stella found an appropriate place to write the information. "She was reported missing 18 days ago."

"By?"

Angela looked back down at the file. "Uh... Some lady named Jessalyn Walters... She's supposedly the victim's neighbor, and reported her missing when she stopped coming home, and when she noticed mail and newspapers began to pile up."

Stella paused, turning away from the board. "Didn't she live with her boyfriend?" Angela knew that Lynn's official place of residence was at her boyfriend's. Angela started with a sudden realization and it didn't go unnoticed by Stella. "What is it?"

"I can't believe we haven't thought of this. Lynn broke up with her boyfriend two months ago." Stella added it to the timeline.

The large gap between where she broke up with her boyfriend and when she was killed didn't go unnoticed by the pair. "So where the hell has she been living the past three months?" Stella asked, somewhat rhetorically.

Angela shrugged. "That's why we work with cops. I'm guessing its in Soho, because that's where this neighbor lives."

Stella nodded. "I'll get Flack on it."

After that, the two women went back to working on their time line.

**. . . . .**

He knocked slowly, but loudly. "Jessalyn Walters? NYPD," he called calmly.

A pretty woman answered the door. For a moment, Don thought he was looking at his Jess. The illusion soon dropped revealing the woman's real face. The temporary view of the late detective made this woman's face look dull. Plain. Pale. Dark hair piled on top of her head in a sloppy bun. Eyes a murky, muddy brown compared to Jess's bright, chocolate pools.

"Can I help you?"

Flack flashed his badge. "Detective Don Flack. I'm visiting you about the neighbor you reported missing, Lynn Macken."

Confusion crossed her features briefly before she obviously remembered, "Of course, please come in." She ushered him into her home before closing the door.

"I'm so sorry about this mess, Detective." She was referring to the magazine-quality apartment behind her that looked like freaking Buckingham Palace next to his place. Normally, he would have said so, but he wasn't interested in small talk with this woman. The overlay of Jess's face had shaken him, and he wanted to wrap up the questioning before he broke down.

"Not a problem. How well did you know Ms. Macken?"

"Well, we were a little closer than most neighbors, I suppose. A few short conversations in the elevator led us to having coffee sometimes. She's been to my apartment a few times, but I haven't been to hers. She told me she wasn't staying long, and that she was just in New York because her baby's adoptive parents lived here."

"So you were aware of her pregnancy?"

"Yes, she told me when she refused coffee and asked for water."

"Has anyone visited her in the past few months she's been living here?"

She considered it, "I don't really think so. A guy came by once... it's not really any of my business."

"Any information could help," he tried to persuade.

"I'm sorry, Detective, but did something happen to Lynn?"

He sighed. He hated this part. "She was murdered a few weeks ago."

Ms. Walters let out a breath, sitting down slowly in an armchair. "Oh god... The baby?" Don shook his head, not wanting to use the callous words Dr. Brennan had used regarding the victim's child. Ms. Walters bit her lip, looking down at the floor. "I suppose that changes things..." She sighed and glanced back up at the Detective. "Lynn didn't tell me his name, or who he was. But the way they were arguing, I'd bet that he was the father of that child," she said quietly, remembering that day, about a week before Lynn went missing...

_"Get rid of it!" Jessalyn was startled to hear yelling coming from the next-door apartment. She was shocked, as Lynn was one of the kindest, gentlest people she'd ever met. Jassalyn had never heard her raise her voice to anything or anyone. She pressed close to the adjoining wall, straining to hear what was going on._

_"How dare you! He's yours!"_

_"He? Do you think I really care about that, Lynn?"_

_"You should, you bastard!"_

_"Lynn, get rid of it, and this whole thing will be past us, and things can go back to the way they were."_

_"No! Things can't go back to the way they were!"_

_"Why the hell not?"  
_

_"You don't get it, do you? This is my kid!"_

_"Probably mine, too! That means I get a say in this!"_

_"No, Dan, you gave up any rights to this child as soon as I told you. Your reaction said it all."_

_"Lynn, this is insane-"_

_"Get out! Get out of my house!"_

_"This isn't even your house!"_

_"GET THE HELL OUT!"_

"So you'd say it was pretty heated?"

Ms. Walters nodded fervently. "Oh yes. I went over after he left to see if she was okay. She was pretty cagey about it, so I just let it go."

Flack took a few notes, before digging out one of his cards. "You've been very cooperative. We may be contacting you later for more information, and feel free to call me if you remember anything else."

She escorted him to the door. "Of course. I hope you find out what happened to Lynn." With the seriousness aside, Jessalyn allowed herself to admire the detective. His features were extremely attractive, and there was one hell of a body beneath those street clothes.

Flack nodded tightly. "That's my job, Ms. Walters."

He opened the door, preparing to let himself out. She leaned on her door, shooting the handsome detective a flirtatious smile, "Please, call me Jess."

His expression turned horrified, before he stated coldly, "Thank you very much for your cooperation." Jessalyn wondered what she said as the detective nearly took off down the hallway.

Flack stormed angrily back to his car. It wasn't that woman's fault. How on earth could she know what the name Jess meant to him? The rationale didn't make it hurt any less. She couldn't have known that the only woman he would ever so fondly call Jess was now gone.

_"Jess, all this crap you get 'cause of Truby isn't fair," he said. She looked confused. "What?"_

_She shrugged it off. "It's nothing. No one has ever called me Jess before."_

_"You're kidding."_

_She chuckled, "Nope. My family and most of my friends call me Jessie or Jessica. I was called J.J. in high school."_

_He gave her a look. "J.J.?"_

_Angell rolled her eyes. "I thought it sounded cool. Plus, one of my boyfriend's name was Jay. Jay and J.J. We were like Brad and Angelina," she finished with a chuckle. "I like Jess, though. I could get used to it."_

_"I hope so," Don said quietly.  
_

She was everywhere. His apartment. At the precinct. Anywhere in the city, her memory followed him like a shadow.

He wanted her to leave him alone, but at the same time, desperately clung to any reminders of her he could hold on to. He had yet to empty out the drawer filled with her things in his dresser. Her toothbrush still sat beside his. Her perfume sat on the bathroom counter. The pillow on her side of the bed still smelled like her. Sometimes, he could imagine that she was still sleeping next to him.

He couldn't stand them. They only served to be reminders of a happier time, a happier time that he'd hoped to continue for the rest of his life when it was violently ripped away from him, yet he kept them. He knew he would have to throw them away, or send them to her parents. Eventually. The thought made him feel sick. He tried once, even managed to box up a few pictures and pieces of clothing to send to her parents. He finished sealing the boxes with packing tape when his gaze fell on the black velvet box that sat on the top of his dresser. The knowledge of what was within that small box sucked all the will out of him. He'd stood up, almost eerily calm, and punched a hole straight through the plaster of his apartment wall. He promptly found himself in the nearest bar he could find, nursing the most alcoholic beverage he could get. He'd almost ordered a triple vodka on the rocks and he remembered a particular instance of Jess ordering that drink.

_"Triple vodka on the rocks," she told the barkeep._

_"Same," Don said before turning to Jess. "You strike me as more of a beer or tequila shot type of girl," he jested playfully._

_She shrugged before playfully winking. "I'm a woman of many facets, Detective." The drinks were placed in front of them. "Besides," she said, shooting him a challenging look, "I took the subway today, thus no car. And, I'm not slotted to work tomorrow. I'm ready to get absolutely plastered, if you'll join me."_

_Don smirked. "Cheers."_

Now, Don was completely sober (he was on the clock, after all), and he could feel. Every. Single. Emotion. Every single good memory was like a nail piercing his heart. Every single thought turning dark and hopeless. Sadness didn't even begin to cover what he was feeling. Alcohol had been his crutch since he lost her.

It had been two months, twenty days, and 13 hours since he lost her. And the feeling of being thrown into an acid pool was not fading. If anything, it had become steadily worse. When her death was fresh, it hadn't seemed real. Like she would stroll into the precinct with those combat boots of hers, sit down at her desk, and shoot him the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen, and say 'You would not believe the day I've had'. Every day, he'd get home to his apartment and half-expecting her to be waiting for him, lounged on the couch doing paperwork, or just catnapping. Either way, he would've been thrilled to see her.

But she never was. The fact that she was never coming back began to sink in as the shock wore off. Then came the depression. He'd never sunk so low in his entire life. Even in his worst moments, especially after the bomb that had nearly killed him, he'd never been so depressed. He gave credit to Jess. She didn't realize what a large help in his recovery she was. One example, when he had meltdowns and panic attacks at work, she'd cart him off, miraculously without being seen, calm him down, and return to work like nothing had happened.

_"You don't know how much this means to me, Jess."_

_She looked startled a moment. He never called her Jess at work. She just gave him a soft smile, "That's what partners are for, right?_ _Who can you break down in front of if not me?"_

He was brought out of his pained reverie by the music on the radio.

_I close my eyes_  
_Only for a moment and the moment's gone_  
_All my dreams_  
_Pass before my eyes a curiosity_

_Dust in the wind_  
_All they are is dust in the wind_

_Same old song_

_Just a drop of water in an endless sea_  
_All we do_  
_Crumbles to the ground though we refuse to see_

_Dust in the wind_  
_All we are is dust in the wind_

_Now don't hang on_  
_Nothing lasts forever but the Earth and Sky_  
_It slips away_  
_And all your money won't another minute buy_

He slammed his hand down a little harder than necessary on the 'Off' button on the radio before Kansas could finish the last few bars of their song. He surprised himself in that he was able to listen to it as long as he had. It was one of Jess's favorite songs. (He'd asked her about it once. She had to ponder it for a moment, her face taking on that thoughtful look it always did when she was turning thing over in her head. _"It's really true. Subtle, yet_ _true."_) Not only that, but it not-so-subtly related to his current situation, and he couldn't stand it. All it was doing was rubbing salt in the wounds. Telling him over and over again that Jessica Angell wasn't coming back.

He merged into traffic as the stifling silence slowly and painfully suffocated him.

**I've given myself the following concessions with this chapter:**

**A) blood at the crime scene. It never would have survived the storms.**

**B) blue crabs. I'm pretty certain they inhabit the East River, but I'm not sure about the specific location the body was dumped.**

**C) A lot of other scientific jargon. I'm not a scientist, but I can do my best to sound like one.**

**D) cop-ness. I don't know what kinds of questions are asked during investigations, so... yep.  
**

**Writers on this site are paid in reviews. It also helps me be a better writer.**


	10. Betrayal

**A/N: This is really random, but is anyone else HATING the recent Bones episodes? I am starting to get sick of it. The writers really destroyed what would've been an awesome couple of Booth and Brennan by getting her prego right off the bat. Am I alone in this? I hope not... anyhoo, enjoy your reading. Happy Holidays!**

**Disclaimer: FOX and CBS own this real estate. I just rent.**

**~~Betrayal~~**

Booth gazed over the case file, taking a sip of mediocre break room coffee, studying a few of the details as a sudden thought struck him.

_Reported Missing by: Walters, Jessalyn M. (See attached affidavit)_

He flipped through several meandering police forms dealing with ongoing investigation updates, affidavits taken from other neighbors during the canvass, when he realized the obvious gap in whose statements were taken. _Becky and Shawna._

The two girls hadn't been interviewed. Booth sighed in frustration at that notion. Those two would have been up near the top of his list. And yet, he flipped through the file (which was becoming increasingly extensive the further their investigation went) again, looking to see if their statements when she went missing got jostled around somewhere and were merely misplaced. Alas, he came up empty. They didn't exist.

The agent sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. He was about to curse the NYPD for letting inexperienced officers perform the canvass, for letting go large leads by not investigating further into Lynn's life when another thought struck him. _Bones would be pissed with all these 'intuitive leaps' I'm making. _When he interviewed the two friends, it was like they didn't even know she was missing. If they were as close as they made it seem, why were they not the ones to report her missing?

Booth set the file down on the table in front of him before scrubbing his hands across his wearied face. This case was proving more complicated than he'd originally thought. He wished fervently that their very first suspect, the brother, had done it; case closed, end of story. But no, this case (which wasn't even technically a federal investigation. He had to do some fancy footwork with his superiors to even allow Bones and he to come and assist. Quite frankly, they didn't care if Bones went. She worked for the Jeffersonian, not the FBI. A mere contract stated that she help them when needed. But Booth wasn't about to let Bones go up to New York City without him. He could barely remember what cases were like without his Squint Squad, and even though they would never admit it, they forgot what it was like to not work with him as well.) had turned into a quagmire of suspects who all had motive in the most pedantic of ways, boatloads of evidence that gave them no solid leads, frustrating double-backs when they realized their leads wound up at a giant dead end.

In the break room of the crime lab, Booth decided to go question the best friends again. The strangest, even unnoticeable, holes in a case could sometimes lead to the biggest breaks. He collected the myriad of paperwork that was now strewn over the table and stood, planning on finding his partner to tell her what he planned to do.

Meanwhile, Brennan and Zack were poring over their current evidence, trying (mostly in vain) to find something to link to one of the suspects.

"Perhaps we should return to Hell Gate Bridge? Maybe we missed something?" The fact that Zack was admitting that they 'may have missed something' gave Brennan a clear picture of how desolate their evidence situation was becoming.

"You don't miss things, Zack," she reminded, somewhat fruitlessly. She knew that he knew that.

"I'm aware of that fact. However, I did not discover all of the evidence. Several techs that the NYPD provided found some of the evidence."

Brennan sighed. "The only important evidence we found on the bridge was the blood, and yet that to was a proverbial 'bust'."

She heard a chuckle from the doorway to their temporary lab. "You should know that I am so proud you finally used that in the correct way," Booth said, fondly remembering times similar to this when she'd substituted 'bust' for several other words including 'pop' and 'explosion'.

"I think I'm starting to _get the hang of _using common vernacular slang terms," she smirked in good humor at her use of another phrase she heard Booth say quite often.

"Like I said, I'm very proud." Booth approached the table where the remains lay. "Finding anything?"

She sighed as his segue brought her back to her current frustration. "Nothing that would indicate a perpetrator."

He wasn't surprised. "I'm sure you'll find something. You always do. Remember the Terry Bancroft case with that special fungus? You'll find us some special fungus."

She quickly realized he was using a colloquialism. "What about you?"

"Hm?"

"Did you find anything of use in the file?"

He suddenly remembered the reason he came here. "Oh, yeah, the vic's two best friends were never interviewed after she went missing, and the first time I talked to them, it was like they didn't even know she was gone. And its the middle of the softball season, you know? So why wouldn't they notice that she's not at practice or games?"

"You raise good points, Agent Booth," Zack said, finally speaking up. He was still looking down at the bones and didn't actually expect a response. He and Booth still had their 'guy thing' going on.

"I agree with Zack. If the two women in question had such a personal relationship with the victim, how could her absence go unnoticed?" Brennan said, her logical mind quickly picking up on the thread.

"My thoughts exactly."

It was then that Mac walked into the room, seeking the same answered that Booth knew he wouldn't get. "Are you finding any useful evidence?"

She tried to keep her tone as patient as possible. She wouldn't be able to find any evidence with all these interruptions. "I was just telling agent Booth that no, we have not found any evidence that may lead to a perpetrator as of yet, but Booth may have a lead." She returned to her bones, letting Booth explain what he recently discovered.

He gave the summed up version to Mac, explaining the best friends' ignorance much the same was as he did with Bones and Zack. Mac nodded slightly, face thoughtful. "We should bring them in for interrogation."

A few hours later, they had Becky and Shawna both in the same interrogation room at the precinct. Booth was the only one interrogating. He convinced Detective Taylor he would handle this on his own. The two military men hadn't agreed easily on how to proceed, but they'd eventually come to an accord.

Mac wasn't sure what to think of Agent Booth. The man boasted an easy confidence, even a little bit of an ego (especially where his interrogation skills were concerned), but there was a deep humility beneath the surface that Mac's instincts knew was buried trauma of the other man's military past. He'd been able to discover that Command Sergeant Major Seeley Booth was a well-respected man, not just in the Rangers, but the US Army as a whole. Credited with taking out dozens of targets, Booth was credited as _the_ best shot in the Rangers at the time.

As a Marine, Mac held a great respect for the Rangers. He knew that snipers often had the worst job of all- they had to get to know their targets. Learn their routines, behavior, patterns in their life, family members... it took a great deal of recon by the sniper before they were able to properly take out a target. It was a well known fact that Army Rangers were the ones that frequented the offices of Army psychologists most often (at least when the tough bastards admitted that they needed help). Mac couldn't fathom getting to know someone (in a sense) and then having to kill them. He imagined that it was, at the very least, excruciating. With taking a human life, there is always a price to be paid.

Starting out at the lowest rung of the military as a lowly Private, Booth clawed his way up the ranks quickly, becoming one of the youngest Sergeants in the Ranger's history. Countless medals were thrown his way, Mac found, most notably a Bronze Star (for carrying an injured member of his squadron nearly four miles while being tailed by hostiles), a Silver Star, and the Army's highest award, a Medal of Honor (he was one of the few who were actually alive to see the honor), along with a myriad of other ribbons and medals. Mac even realized that the number of honors this man received outnumbered his own.

The stellar military record added to Mac's confidence in the young agent, and he agreed to let him do the interrogation solo.

Rebecca Jean Moss looked nervous. Her leg bounced against the floor as if she had Restless Leg Syndrome, her hand kept dragging through her thick mop of dark brown curls, and her green eyes shifted constantly. Booth knew he'd have to keep an eye on her.

Shawna Margot Briggs looked depressed. She sat statue-still, leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed protectively over her midsection. Her dark eyes were fixated on nothing in particular, but her stony gaze did not move.

As soon as Booth entered the room, Becky stopped her nervous tells, leaning across the table. "Why are we here, Agent Booth? We answered all of your questions." Her voice rang with conviction and authority, but it did not deter Booth in the least.

"I just have a few follow up questions to ask you and you'll be free to go."

Becky huffed slightly, and Shawna shifted, moving for the first time since she was brought in, putting a hand on Becky's arm. "Bex, its just a few questions."

She sighed, turning to her friend, "I just want to be done with all of this..." Becky's eyes glistened with unshed tears.

"Me too." Obviously deciding to be the strong one, Shawna leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. "What do you need to know?"

Booth observed the interaction carefully. Something felt... off about Becky. He didn't allow the idea too much time as he asked his first question. "Why didn't you report Lynn missing?"

"Because she wasn't missing," came Becky's stark response.

"How so? She was reported missing by a neighbor who barely knew her. You three claimed to be best friends, so why on Earth did you not notice your best friend wasn't around?"

Shawna visibly flinched at Booth's accusatory tone. "Lynn tore her ACL about 3 months back in one of her private workout sessions with Coach. She said that he referred her to a specialist in Michigan and that she was going to live there for a little while as she recovered. As far as we knew, she was living in Port Huron with some cousin recovering from the surgery."

_Private workout session... no witnesses. A specialist in Michigan... explains why no one knew she was missing, or had any idea she was pregnant. Does this cousin exist? But why would she be living in an apartment in Soho, then?_

Becky decided to contribute. "I think it was like her Dad's... sister's... daughter? Caitlyn? Katie? Something to that effect."

"You didn't have contact with her during that time? If my best friend was laid up like that, I'd be sure to at least call."

Shawna nodded, "I called her a few times, but I always caught her when she was at rehab or napping or something. Her cousin was pretty protective, I guess. She said to email instead, because then she could respond whenever she awoke, or something alone those lines."

Becky nodded, "Same here."

Booth decided the emails needed looking into. He'd get Angela on it as soon as possible. "Do you know of where she's been living since she and her boyfriend broke up?" Booth asked, hoping to gain some sort of insight on the mysterious Soho apartment.

"She trades off between my apartment and Shawna's," Becky answered. "But I think she was at Shawna's most of the time." Was that a hint of venom in her voice?

"As far as you two knew, she didn't have an apartment anywhere else? Lived with anyone else?"

They both shook their heads, but it was Shawna who answered. "The only family who live near here is her brother and she hasn't seen him in years."

"Have you met her brother?" Booth wanted to gain perhaps a little bit of insight on the brother who was still on his suspect list, although he was steadily getting pushed to the bottom.

The two friends shared a look. "Dane Macken is what one would call perpetually angry," Becky answered, voice strong, almost _eager._ "If he and Lynn ever talked, it would always end up in a giant argument." She paused before saying, "Lynn told me he even hit her once, right when she moved out. She said that it was the best decision she ever made to get away from him."

Booth saw Shawna shift uncomfortably, but she remained silent. _Interesting. _Meanwhile, Becky was still talking about Dane Macken's inability to control his anger. "In school he was that way too. Detention was like his second home because he got in fights all the time... I think he's been to anger management before, but I really doubt that helped him. I'm pretty sure it was court-ordered because he punched a meter maid in the face. The guy is just really twisted. Always has been, always will be."

Booth sat with an interesting expression on his face- it was one of the cold, hard interrogator, but it was obviously slightly amused by Becky's near-ramblings about Dane Macken. "Is that all?"

She sat deathly still for a moment, like she'd frozen, before nodding. He directed his eyes to Shawna. "Do you have anything to add to that... interesting array?"

"Uh, no. He's not a good guy, Becky got that right." Shawna said, her face calm, but Booth could see her inner conflict over something. Normally during interrogation he would exploit those kinds of weaknesses, but he felt that the best course of action would be to let her stew over the issue that was plaguing her. If he'd judged her character correctly (a skill which he'd never questioned before the business with the brain tumor... he'd eventually recovered his skills, but the fact that he lost them for an extended period still scared him sometimes.) then she would eventually come forward with it.

Booth's head cocked imperceptibly as he studied the two of them. An interesting pair of suspects. Yes, through the duration of the interrogation he began to regard the two as suspects. They were obviously hiding something, it's whether or not that thing was malicious or not remained to be seen.

Booth decided to prod them a bit. See their different reactions. He was still trying to get a feel for how much they knew about the relationship between Lynn and the coach. In fact, he himself was trying to get a feel for the relationship as a whole... if it could even be considered as a relationship. Was Lynn willingly sleeping with Rahloes? Was he using her for... something? Was she using him to get playing time? That entire situation was a blank slate. "Did you notice anything... strange when she was with your coach?"

He observed them carefully. Becky seemed to lock up for a fraction of a second, and what he thought was a flash of annoyance in her eyes. She proceeded to do her best to look natural, leaning back in her seat before sighing slightly. Shawna's demeanor changed from the guarded edge she'd taken on, and seemed to be openly pondering the question, obviously wanting to help in any way possible. Maybe her guarded facade was only to protect her remaining best friend from lying her way into prison.

"No more than usual," Becky said, somewhat flatly. "There's always pre-season tension between those two."

Shawna glanced at Becky. Booth saw the same conflict in her eyes before she turned back to the stone-faced agent, nothing but resolve in her gaze, "I don't think they were getting along very well."

Booth regarded her carefully. There was nothing but truthfulness in her tone, openness in her eyes. "Why?"

Another sideways glance at Becky. "Lynn told me... that she was leaving Manhattan College."

Becky's eyes widened, "What? She didn't tell me!" Her tone was incredulous, hurt.

Shawna's lips thinned. "She only told me the night before she left for Michigan. She told me that she was sick of people not taking the sport and the team seriously, always partying and stuff. She said that she just wanted to be around people who treated softball as seriously as she did. She wanted to go to Arizona State. They offered her a full-ride scholarship! They're ranked first in the nation! And Manhattan? We're down near two-hundredth. I couldn't blame her for wanting to leave." She turned to Becky, "She didn't tell you because she knew how much you wanted to go there, how much you wanted that scholarship."

"So she'd rather just leave me in the dark?" Booth could see Becky was fuming. "She was my best friend too, you know!"

"She was going to tell you, she just... Can we not do this now?" Shawna pleaded, mindful of the federal agent's presence mere feet from them.

Becky's eyes closed. She said nothing as she turned from Shawna, icy gaze now fixated ahead.

Booth closed his eyes, trying to absorb the myriad of information that was just hurled in his direction. The moment was brief. "Okay, you two are free to go. If you think of anything, give me a call."

After the pair left the precinct, Booth was approached by Detective Flack. Booth was wary of the morose detective. A brief conversation with Angela said that he lost someone close to him recently, but she wouldn't tell him any more than that, saying she didn't want to give information that wasn't hers to share. It made Booth mightily curious about the empty desk facing Flack's.

"I got something on the apartment," he stated, handing a lease agreement to Booth. "Turns out, it's leased to a Brandon Richards."

"Brandon Richards?" Another name meant twice as many complications with the case, and Booth did not want to have to deal with another suspect.

"Yeah, but here's the thing- Mr. Richards has been out of the country for the past year; apparently, he and his girlfriend are trying to relocate to Australia, and are waiting out a dual-citizenship issue with Customs in Sydney." Booth made a sound of acknowledgement as he studied the document.

"So the landlord was okay with them just not living there?"

"Not exactly," Flack said, walking over to his desk and sitting down. Booth didn't miss the pained look in his eye when the detective's gaze fell on the empty desk. "Landlord wanted them to find another person to take over the lease. Richards brought up the idea of a sub-lease, and the landlord was okay with it."

"Okay, who did he sub-lease it to?"

"One Mr. Daniel Phillip Rahloes."

Booth glanced up. "You're kidding," he said. They _finally_ had some form of solid evidence against Rahloes, and the FBI agent had to restrain himself from giving Detective Flack a giant hug.

"Richards is sending a copy of the sub-lease agreement to us, so you'll have it pretty soon."

Another piece had been added to the growing puzzle that was this case. Booth hoped they'd be able to discover what exactly they were looking at in regards to the case, but he had no doubt that Bones would find him a keystone sooner or later, and this case would finally be over.

**My concessions:**

**a) Army medals. I've tried to be as realistic as possible in regards to their awarding. If I got any aspects wrong, please let me know. I hate misrepresenting the military in any way shape or form. I'm not affiliated in any way with the United States armed forces, but my family has been for years, and I hold great respect for those who serve. (And we don't really hear much about Booth's military past anymore... it saddens me, so I've included some in here, for others like me. And for those who couldn't figure it out, the Bronze Star was awarded after the incident with Teddy Parker, which the show left kinda undeveloped. In fact, most of Booth's military history is a mystery. Hm.)**

**b) Apartment leasing and sub-leasing. Some aspects may be skewed. (what can I say, I'm just a chid. It's the new kid... Has no one ever watched the Bones bloopers before?)**

**c) Manhattan College softball. This story takes place around 2008, but I used rankings from 2011...**

**d) irresponsibility with the Manhattan softball team. I'm just using a generalization to make the story work. No offense intended.**

**Wow, a lot of Bones-y joke references in this. Booth and Zack's 'guy thing' :) And sorry about the length. Its a little shorter than I'd originally planned, but writers block is preventing me from adding more. Pray that some inspiration is thrown in my direction :P**

Here's Stella and Angela's (simplified) timeline of events for everyone to enjoy and... yep. this is a pretty complex case, so it's good to lay stuff out there.

Conception: Late February

Supposed ACL injury: April 30, 2008

Breaks up with boyfriend: Sometime in mid-May

Supposedly leaves for Michigan: June 4, 2008

Estimated time of death: Around July 9, 2008

Reported Missing: July 16, 2008

Body Discovered: July 30, 2008


	11. Illumination

**Title: **The Girl in the River  
**Author: **Serena

**Summary: **Mac and Stella have a heart to heart talk about their friend, Hodgins and Zack make an important discovery, and Angela finds something that could lead the team to the killer.

**Category: **Crime, Action, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst

**Timeline/Spoilers: **This story takes place just before Bones season 5, and CSI:NY season 6. In this timeline, Flack only took a few days of leave from his job before coming back to work at the end of May. Booth's brain tumor was discovered much earlier than in canon, but the events surrounding it were still the same.

**Ships: **Booth/Bones, little bit of Mac/Stella friendship, angsty Flack/Angell, Hodgins/Angela, Zack/Hodgins friendship, Angela/Flack friendship, little bit of Angela/Adam

**AN1:** Are people still reading out there?

**AN2: **Like the new header? Anyway, sorry for the update rift. I'm getting carried away with other stories.

**~~Illumination~~**

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Mac was able to sit down for a decent cup of coffee with Stella. A small coffee cart a block from the crime lab was a particular favorite of theirs, and it seemed to the both of them that they'd gone far too long without catching up.

After they found a nice bench, the sat and began talking immediately. As expected, they found themselves on the topic of the team from Washington, D.C. and the case that was going nowhere fast.

"They are very knowledgable in their fields of study. That entomologist was basically able to figure out exactly when and where the body was dumped using just silt and bugs. It's incredibly impressive," said Stella.

Mac chuckled, "I agree. I'm not sure where this case would've gone without them. Identifying the victim alone would've taken forever since our victim has no dentals on our system. She would probably still be a Jane Doe."

"The hearing aid would've probably helped, though."

"Did we ever figure out how she lost her hearing?" Mac asked, somewhat guiltily. He would admit that he hadn't kept a very close eye on the case, as he'd trusted Stella with it, and having her oversee the investigation was basically like having Mac there. He'd inquired about evidence, and had been present when Agent Booth had interviewed the two best friends, but that was about the extent of his involvement. Normally, he'd make sure to be very involved in any case, especially when they hired outside consultants, but he trusted Stella implicitly and thus his presence was not always necessary.

Stella nodded. "Apparently, it was not abuse at all. When she was fifteen years old, she suffered from an acoustic neurinoma in her right ear. She had surgery and radiation to remove the tumor, but she still suffered from 80% hearing loss in her right ear. Thankfully, the tumor didn't affect her balance or she may never have been able to play softball again."

Mac sighed softly before drinking his coffee. "What a shame. She survives cancer and then gets murdered. And she had so much of her life ahead of her."

Stella nodded in agreement. "It's always the good ones, Mac."

"Seems to be a disturbing trend in our line of work." After a short pause, he asked, "Why have you decided to not bring in Rahloes for questioning? The connection with the apartment is very suspicious."

"Agent Booth seems to think we need more evidence to bring him in. I think if we're able to extract DNA from the fetal bones and it matches Rahloes we might be able to get him to confess if it was in fact him who killed her."

Mac nodded slowly, mulling it over in his head a little. "That makes sense. Bring him in too soon, he'll be reluctant to help us in the future. And seeing how this might end up being one of those cases that relies a lot on circumstantial evidence and witness testimony, that could be a very messy situation."

"If we keep coming up dry on evidence, that is exactly what this case will be," Stella agreed.

The two moved onto a few other topics before they came to one that was of great concern to the both of them. Flack. "I'm worried about him, Mac. He's not the same since..." Neither of hem wanted to talk bout Jess. Despite the fact that it had been a few months since her death, it still rested heavily on the team's minds. She'd only been a detective for three short years at the NYPD, but she'd grown to be a good friend to them all.

"I am too. I've wanted to ask him about it for a long time now, but you know how he gets."

"Cagey. Defensive. Accusatory. I know, I just think we need to keep an eye out for him."

Mac agreed wholeheartedly. He remembered the months following the loss of Claire. To Mac's knowledge, Flack and Angell had never outright told anyone they were 'dating' per se, but it was quite obvious the two of them had obvious feelings for each other. Mac did not know anything about their relationship, nor the context to their situation. He also knew that on the raid where Connor Dunbrook's kidnappers and Jessica's murderers were concerned, not one of the perpetrators made it out alive. Every single one 'killed in the course of the arrest due to aggressive intentions'. Now, Mac wasn't one to jump to conclusions, or make such outrageous claims against his employees who were also people he considered close friends, so the admittance that perhaps Don had... done something to the man who was responsible for Angell's death hurt him greatly.

"I'm not sure how we do that without basically telling Don that we don't trust him," Mac said quietly. His friend's predicament weighed heavily on his mind these days.

Stella paused, "I guess I didn't think about it like that." There was another pause before she began speaking vigorously, "I feel helpless, Mac! Don is one of my best friends, and in all the years I've known him, I have never seen him act this way. I don't know what to do."

"Stell, I don't think there is anything we _can_ do. I like it as much as you do, but I think we need to try and let this run it's course."

Stella was steamed, but she understood where Mac was coming from. "I don't like feeling helpless, Mac. I don't sit and wait for awful things to happen."

"That's technically your job description right there, Stella," Mac informed slightly wryly, trying to calm the increasingly incensed detective.

Stella recognized Mac's attempt to calm her down. It worked somewhat, as she let out a short half-laugh. "I know what you mean. But this is _Flack_ we're talking about."

"I know. And as much as we want to help him, he's on his own path, and he has to go where it takes him. The more we try to interfere, the longer it will take him to get there."

Stella could see his logic. She really could. But she couldn't be rational where the well-being of her friends were concerned. She would try though. She vowed to herself that, for Mac, she would try to be rational. "You're right. We need to just wait this out." The reiteration was unnecessary, but Stella wanted so badly to believe the words.

Mac stood, coffee cup empty. "I don't know if I'm right, but I think the best plan of action may be inaction at the moment."

**. . . . . .**

Meanwhile, back at the NYPD crime lab's AV lab, Angela was explaining to Danny and Hawkes why the Angelator was so much better than your average crime-scene recreation software. "I designed it myself to be able to handle a large influx of near-infinite variables, and posits the most likely scenario after compounding the data, and then presents it in holographic form. Trust me, my baby far surpasses any and all crime-recreation software you have here. Not to mention it also can calculate wound depths, approximate strength needed to inflict injuries, reconstruct virtual skeletons, and the list goes on. And on."

"Impressive," Hawkes said, as he looked on the computer screen to where a virtual ribcage was being measured by the computer, to see if the dimensions of the knife she input were a match.

Angela grinned, obviously proud of 'her baby'. "The holographic display at the Jeffersonian is so much better."

Meanwhile, Adam was convinced he was in love with Angela Montenegro. She was beautiful, smart, and knew computer geek-speak like nobody's business. If only she wasn't so far out of his league, he pondered. The two of them had already had several interesting conversations about different software they used, and Adam was hoping desperately to ask her out for a coffee or something.

Soon, the computer signaled it was finished with its analysis with a beep and a window popped up that read '99.6% match'. "We have a match. This knife is almost positively our murder weapon," she printed the results, which she would deliver to Zack and Hodgins in their temporary lab.

**. . . . . . .**

Not long after Angela delivered her results, Hodgins was staring intently at a peculiar rust sample under a microscope, occasionally typing something into his computer with an intense expression of focus, while Zack was re-examining the stab wounds that were dispersed across the victim's ribs and sternum. The young forensic anthropologist did not expect to find anything new, but did not want to sit uselessly whilst Hodgins was claiming the King of the Lab honor. Despite the fact that they'd jokingly awarded him with the undisputed King of the Lab trophy, Hodgins sometimes reclaimed the title when he felt he was being particularly brilliant.

That's why when Zack heard the older man yell out, "King of the Lab!" Zack hoped he'd finally found something useful.

Zack looked up from his bones to find Hodgins standing, arms raised towards the ceiling, and a jubilant look on his face. "What did you find?" Zack asked. Not 'Did you find something'.

At that moment, Danny Messer rolled into the lab. "Find something, Bug Man?" Danny anointed Jack with that nickname shortly after the team's arrival, and Hodgins enjoyed it immensely, even if he would never admit it.

Instead of answering verbally, he pulled an image of one of the dozens of rust samples he'd been looking through the past several days onto a large computer screen. The three of them lined up side by side, squinting slightly at the screen. "It appears to be a rust sample," deadpanned Zack.

Hodgins leaned forward and turned to meet Zack's eyes, a childlike exuberance shining in Jack's blue orbs. "This is not some ordinary rust sample, my friend. Oh no. This is rust that had a higher oxidation level than anything I found on the bridge. Analysis revealed it to be oxidized _steel_. Stainless steel to be exact. I found evidence of passivation on this sample."

"Passivation?" came the question of Messer.

Despite Hodgins' obvious enthusiasm for what he'd found, it was Zack who answered, his tone almost absent-minded, as though the passivation process was commonplace knowledge. "Most steels are corrosion-resistant by nature, which might suggest that passivating them would be unnecessary. However, stainless steels are not completely impervious to rusting. One common mode of corrosion in corrosion-resistant steels is when small spots on the surface begin to rust because grain boundaries or embedded bits of foreign matter allow water molecules to oxidize some of the iron in those spots despite the alloying chromium. This corrosion can be avoided by a passivation process which typically is comprised of cleaning the steel with sodium hydroxide and citric acid followed by nitric acid, up to 20% at 120 degrees Fahrenheit, and a complete water rinse. This process will restore the film, remove metal particles, dirt, and welding-generated compounds."

Danny was obviously taken aback by the young man's offhanded brilliance. "That's all well and dandy, but why is it so special?"

Hodgins was all too happy to provide an answer, "The passivation process of this bit of rust was strange. The fact that there is rust on a passivated metal is strange. The nitric acid was at a lower temperature, and thus the process was flawed, which allowed this little tidbit of rust to form." He pulled up a few data readouts on the oxidation, and Zack examined them. Hodgins turned to Zack

"Hodgins, you and I both know that this sample of rust could have come from anywhere, so what is you evidence that links it to the crime?" Zack didn't ask what he hadn't found. It seemed that whenever Hodgins was King of the Lab nowadays, he had a solid reason for being so.

Hodgins smirked. "This is where things get interesting. Turns out, a company called Realor Steel has patented a new passivation process, which uses nitric acid that is only at 102 degrees. I looked into said company," he said, pulling up a webpage that pictured a gleaming set of a dozen knives, "and they have a subsidiary company called Rondel Kitchware. And this kitchenware company is currently in the process of introducing a new line of _passivated stainless steel knives._"

He pulled up an evidentiary photo of the knife they found in the river, the same knife that Angela's analysis had revealed to be the murder weapon. He zoomed in on the handle, where a barely-there inscription that was nearly invisible unless you knew you were looking for it lay. They were able to make out the letters _R..EL..CH..W..RE. _"That is one hell of a coincidence," Danny said.

"And since there are no coincidences in a murder investigation," Hodgins said eagerly, distantly aware of the fact that he'd said one of Agent Booth's favorite lines, "I was able to find out that the company has only passed out a very limited number of prototype knives to paid participants."

"And I'm guessing we get the task of getting a subpoena for those records?" Danny asked dryly, knowing the answer already.

**. . . . . . .**

Back in the AV lab, Angela was typing away on her computer, using her own specially designed spider software that would track an emails back to it's originating IP address. They'd subpoenaed the emails, and the dates were suspect, because there were emails sent _after_ the date of death. Obviously, someone else was sending the emails (possibly the murderer).

She and Adam were discussing the intricacies of her program when she hit the 'F11' and began the retrieval sequence. "The biggest glitch with the program is how long it takes to upload the data."

"You could probably fix it with a hetra-ware protocol for faster download and decryption."

Angela nodded. "I'm working on integrating that into the program's fundamental makeup, but the protocol doesn't really agree with the essentials. I'm thinking I'm just going to have to rewrite the entire code."

As they continued their computer geek-speak discussion Hawkes, who was standing nearby, was incredibly out of his element. During a lull in their conversation, the former medical examiner spoke up. "You know, no one else understands Adam when he talks like this."

Angela laughed at that. "Well, I work in a lab full of genius IQs, so they can usually figure out what I'm saying. Although, Booth constantly makes jokes about me turning into a 'squint.'"

"I think it's cool," Adam announced.

"When I started this job I had no idea that I'd be designing computer software. I mean, I'm an artist. I'm almost entirely self-taught in the realm of computers."

Adam's eyes widened. "Seriously?" He had a hard time believing a woman with _that much_ knowledge about computers wasn't formally educated. His respect for her grew.

She waved a hand dismissively, while typing a few more commands into the program. "The Jeffersonian paid for some formal education so I could be credible in court, but other than that... zilch."

At that second, the computer finally came up with the original IP address. "Okay. Got it. Now just to check out all the registered computers..." a few more key strikes yielded the answer. Her eyes widened in shock. "The computer this was sent from... its the laptop owned by Rebecca Moss."

Hawkes' eyebrows rose. "The best friend?"

Angela's perplexed expression was followed by a statement, the inflection matching her confusion, "The one and only. Why on earth would she be sending emails, supposedly written by her dead best friend?"

Hawkes sighed grimly. "If she had something to hide."

**Concessions:**

**a) Stainless steel knives are pretty much NEVER passivated. it usually only happens to industrial holding tanks or in aircraft manufacturing. although, it seems like some bullshit thing a company would do to get you to spend more money... but I digress. The process described in this chapter is usually performed on industrial holding tanks.**

**b) There is no such company as Realor Steel or Rondel Kitchenware. If there is, sorry for the coincidence.**

**c) computer-esq things. I try, but I am no computer wizard, nor am I particularly aware of the newest computer tech that allows these sort of things... so yep. Oh, and there is no such thing as hetra-ware as far as I know...  
**


End file.
